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BY 



BENJAMIN MOKAN. 




The young noble, who is whirled through Europe in his chariot, sees society 
at a peculiar elevation, and draws conclusions widely different from him who 
makes the grand tour on foot. Haud inexpe.rtas loquor. — Goldsmith. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
LIPPINCOTT, aRAMBO, AND CO. 

1853. 



THE 



FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY 



OR. 



WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN 



IN 



GEEAT BRITAIN, IN 1851 AND '52. 



BY 

BENJAMIN MORAN. 



The young noble, who is whirled through Europe in his chariot, sees society 
at a peculiar elevation, and draws conclusions widely different from him who 
makes the grand tour on foot. Haud inexpertas loquor. — Goldsmith. 



f PHILADELPHIA: 

LIPPINCOTT, GKAMBO, AND CO. 
1853. 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO, AND CO., 

in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States in 
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



>-» 



TO 

JOHN GEIGG, Esq., 

IN TESTIMONY 

OF 

HIS GREAT EXERTIONS IN PROMOTING AND EXTENDING THROUGHOUT THE 

SOUTH AND WEST, 

A PURE AND STERLING LITERATURE, 

€^m ITnlttmi nf €xmth 

I s 

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE 



The press has teemed of late with the works of American 
tourists, some artistic, some scientific, and others, again, of a more 
purely literary type. There are, therefore, many readers who will 
doubtless expect an apology from one who ventures now to place 
himself and his itinerary before the public, though claiming no 
eminence in the world of letters and making little pretension to 
superiority in any particular accomplishment. 

But we live in an age when the people are becoming paramount 
in all things 3 and the wanderings described in this little volume 
took place among a people more interesting to the American 
than any other upon earth. 

For forty years, the land from which we have drawn our politi- 
cal, and most of our social institutions, has been undergoing a 
quiet but important revolution, the tendency of which has been 
steadily to favor a closer approximation between the habits, feel- 
ings, hopes, and fears of the two great families of the Anglo-Saxon 
stock. While the one has advanced in a most brilliant career 
upon a republican model, the other has been continually soften- 
ing and smoothing down the salient points which chiefly distin- 
guish a limited monarchy from a republic. During these forty 
years, the United States has gradually lost the character of the 
^' daughter" of Great Britain. She has assumed in her maturity 
the novel relationship of a sister ; and the reaction of her opinions, 
her manners, and her prosperity has come to be felt and acknow- 
ledged in the old homestead, with a force which few can appre- 
ciate until they have mingled with the English masses. 

The tourist of wealth and fame is thrown by circumstances 

1^ 



VI PREFACE. 

chiefly into contact with the small minority which forms the upper 
classes, in countries where such classes are established. He sees 
little of the multitude — that multitude with whom it is not im- 
probable that we may be compelled, before many years have 
passed, to stand side by side in the armed defence of our common 
principles against the inveterate foes of our common liberties. 
The artistic or poetical tourist, usually more humble in fortune, 
is brought more closely into contact with the people ; but, accus- 
tomed to look upon nature and humanity under the reflected 
light of his own genius and taste, he is prone to see all things, 
whether charming or disgustful, in unreal colors, and his pictures 
too frequently owe more to the imagination than the judgment. 

The writer of the following pages claims not to belong to either 
of the foregoing classes of travellers. Educated to a mechanical 
profession, he has never aspired to move in the circles of wealth; 
and too busy with the realities of life to devote much time to the 
accomplishments, his offerings at the shrine of the muses have 
been few and little noted. But some moments of relaxation 
occur to all men, and from youth he has been blessed with occa- 
sional glances into the bright realms of soul-land. The songs of 
his father's fatherland were familiar to his childhood ; the classics 
and the nobler poems of England were read with avidity in some- 
what riper years ; and he learned to think, with a feeling amount- 
ing to awe, of those great master-spirits of literature whose 
writings have crowned them with immortality. To visit their 
distant graves — to stand in the shadow of the time-worn castle — 
to wander through the dim aisles of Gothic churches, and taste of 
those sacred springs from which they drew their inspiration, became 
a passion with him ; and so soon as the slender accumulations of 
early industry warranted the undertaking, he flew to the accom- 
plishment of his desire. 

His journey ings in Scotland, Wales, and England were chiefly 
performed on foot, amid the pressure of many difficulties. The 
wayside cottage was a home to him, and the wayfarer was his 
brother and his equal. His pencillings and sketches were partly 
communicated to American journals, that the proceeds might 
aid him on his way, but were chiefly preserved for the grutifi- 



PREFACE. VU 

cation of a few who were near and dear to him, with a mere 
vague and dreamy idea that they might one day reach the public 
eye in volume form. They were submitted to the inspection of 
a literary friend, who urged their publication, and who, at his 
request, has penned this scarcely necessary preface. 

The author has looked upon England and the English from an 
unusual position ; and there is a truthfulness, an unpretending 
sincerity in his descriptions, which will carry the reader with him 
in his lonely rambles ; while even those who may be deeply versed 
in the history of the country and its literature, will find within 
these pages some illustrations both of men and things which 
they will prize not lightly. 

With these remarks, the volume is committed to the public, 
in the full faith that it will not be deemed a useless or imperti- 
nent addition to the long catalogue of recent tours. 

C. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The voyage . . . . . . .13 

CHAPTER II. 

Something about Ireland . . . . .27 

CHAPTER III. 

Liverpool — The ship's fate . . . . .41 

CHAPTER IV. 

Manchester and its vicinity . . . . .47 

CHAPTER V. 

Sheffield — Wharncliffe wood — Chatsworth . . .56 

CHAPTER YI. 

Homes and graves of Byron and Mary Chaworth — Notting- 
ham — Henry Kirke White . . . . .68 

CHAPTER VII. 

Walk to Derby — London — Incidents and remarkable places . 80 

CHAPTER VIII. 

London thoroughfares — Society — The Parks — " The World's 
Fair'' 95 

CHAPTER IX. 

Rambles and reflections in London — Tablet in Temple Church 
to Goldsmith — Tomb of Capt. John Smith, the Virginian — 
Stoke Pogis Church, scene of Gray's "Elegy" . . 112 

CHAPTER X. 
London to Stratford-upon-Avon .... 129 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XI 



"Warwick — Kenilworth — Coventry — Birmingham — Steel-pens 
— A nailer's shop and home — Shenstone's grave — The Lea- 
sowes — Dudley — A storm ..... 140 

CHAPTER XII. 

Lichfield — Stafibrdshire potteries — Chester — Meeting an old 
friend — Preston ...... 150 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Lake country of England .... 15G 

CHAPTER XIV. 

From the Mersey to the Clyde — Glasgow — An American ship 
— The town — Cathedral and University . . . 1G3 

CHAPTER XV. 

Ayr — Burns^s cottage — Kirk Alloway, and the "Banks o'Doon'' 169 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Scottish lakes — A walk from Loch Lomond to Loch Ke- 
turin — An incident on Loch Keturin — Ride to Sterling . 172 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Scotland's capital ...... 179 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A visit to the tomb of Michael Bruce, a young Scottish poet . 189 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Melrose — Abbotsford — Dryburgh Abbey, the burial-place of 
Sir Walter Scott 194 

CHAPTER XX. 

Alnwick Castle — York Minster — Lincoln — The fens, etc. . 201 

CHAPTER XXI. 

London — Northumberland House — Hampton Court — Madame 
Taussaud's — Vernon gallery, etc. .... 212 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Jewish quarter — Public statues — Peculiarities . . 218 



CONTENTS. XI 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

PAGE 

Waiting for remittances — A trip inland — Travelling compa- 
nions — The country — The towns — A journey on foot — Farm 
wages — Rustics and their shoes — The language — A negro 
and his wife — Temple Newsam .... 222 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Leeds and her manufactures — Working people — Kirkstall 
Abbey 232 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Ilarrowgate — Knaresborough — Eugene Aram — Ripen— Foun- 
tains Abbey — Brimham Rocks — Reflections . . 238 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A walk— Wakefield— Valley of the Calder — Rochdale — Queen's 
visit to Manchester and Liverpool — Eaton Hall . . 247 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Wales — Walk to Mold and St. Asaph — An incident at an 
inn — Bangor tubular bridge — Suspension bridge — Welsh 
nationalities ...;.,. 253 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A wedding-party — Shrewsbury — Market-day — Battlefield 
Church 268 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A walk — Hare-shooting — Travelling companions — Kidder- 
minster — Ride to Worcester — The town and its cathedral . 272 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Commercial Travellers — Gloucester and its cathedral — Hostel- 
ries ........ 281 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The west of England— Bristol— St. Mary Redcliffe— Sir Wm. 
Draper's tomb — Sterne's " Eliza" — Lady Hesketh — Clifton 
Downs — Colston School — Pronunciation . . . 288 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Bath — Its beauty — Abbey Church — An incident . . 299 



Xll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

PAGE 

A coachman — Incidents on the road — Wells — Its palace and 
cathedral — Glastonbury Abbey — Sedgemoor — A Saturday 
night in an inn — Monmouth's rebellion . . . 304 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Fun and fogs — Salisbury and its cathedral — A walk to Stone- 
henge over Salisbury Plain ..... 316 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Winchester and its attractions — St. Cross Hospital — King 
Arthur's Round Table . . . . .328 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Return to London — Rambles — Old places — Fallen women . 336 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Dining of the Blue Coat school-boys — Duke of Wellington — 
Mechanics — Tradesmen — Socialists .... 342 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Cambridge and its University — The Eastern Counties . 350 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Norwich — Churches — People— Its treadmill — Lowestoft — 
Yarmouth — Farm hands and farmers — Falstaff's castle — 
Acle — Farming and products — Village preacher — Wherries 359 

CHAPTER XL. 

A visit to Blickling Hall, the birthplace of Anne Boleyn . 370 

CHAPTER XLI. 
The resting-place of William Cowper .... 375 

CHAPTER XLII. 
English railways ...... 378 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

Brighton: its appearance — The pavilion — Esplanade — A 
night with a Blue Coat boy ..... 386 

CHAPTER XLIV. 
Farewell to England . . . . . .389 



THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY. 



CHAPfER I. 

THE VOYAGE. 

^^Let go that hawser!'' 

''Ay, ay, sir!" And away bounded the sailors to perform the 
order so peremptorily uttered. 

"Give her a turn back, Mr. Smith. Steady, now, steady !'' and 
as the command fell from the captain's lips, the stanch steamship 
Lafayette moved slowly from her mooring at Pine Street Wharl, 
Philadelphia, and swung gracefully round into the Delaware, 



amidst the shouts of thousands, and the roar of her own 



guns. 



"Stop her!" 

" Stop her it is, sir I" said the engineer, and there she lay upon 
the waters motionless. The huge monster appeared as if in the 
act of drawing a long inspiration before starting upon her untried 
journey; and, with her head turned seaward, looked as if eager to 
be moving onward. 

" Farewell I" " good-by — a happy voyage and prosperous wea- 
ther I" and such like greetings met the ears of the passengers as 
many of us were recognized by friends on shore. The half- 
smothered adieus of a few were scarcely intelligible ; while the 
tears of the gentler sex flowed freely. Some of those on board 
half regretted the step they had taken, and wished themselves 
on land ; but there was now no retreat. 

A tow-boat came along-side, and as we had a bar to cross it was 
important that we should have her aid. She soon attached her 
tough cords to our huge ship ; and then, all things being in readi- 
ness, the final order to " go ahead" was given, and we started 



14 THE FOOXrATII AND HIGHWAY; 

upon our voyage across the Atlantic. Handkerchiefs were -waved, 
shouts went up, and '' the diapason of the cannonade" mingled its 
bass with the gruff chorus of more than a thousand human voices. 
The wharves were black with citizens ; and, as the distance was 
increased between our ship and them, the faces of friends were 
lost to recognition, and the parting was complete. 

The tug relaxed her boa-like attachments as soon as we passed 
the bar; and, as our ship was left to herself, she dashed boldly on 
her way. I turned to survey mj fellow- voyagers; but of the many 
around me, there was not a single face I knew, or one that knew 
me. All were strangers, and each occupied with his own thoughts. 
Some were sad, some shy, some curious about the ship and her 
rigging, and some disposed to be sociable. The decks were filled 
with uncoiled ropes, the sailors busy running to and fro, and the 
pilot quick with his orders. All the officers and men appeared 
to have plenty to do — the passengers nothing. 

The vessel kept gallantly on her course, with a fair prospect of 
reaching the capes of Delaware, one hundred and thirty miles 
below Philadelphia, by morning; but — alas for human anticipa- 
tions ! — a break occurred ere she had completed thirty miles, and in 
less time than two hours from port she was snugly and c^uietly at 
anchor off Wilmington, Delaware, as calmly as if she meant to go 
to sleep for the night. 

Curiosity was bus}^ among the passengers as to the cause of 
detention ; but no one could tell. The mates were ignorant of 
the why. None dared to ask the captain, and the engineers were 
not visible. The pilot looked unutterable things; the officers joked 
about waiting for the tide when questioned as to the reasons for 
stopping; but no satisfaction could be had. The firemen and ma- 
chinists came up from below at intervals to breathe the fresh air, 
and they certainly looked as if they wanted cooling, for each one 
was half roasted. We could hear the clang of hammers in the 
engine-room, and that was all. A break had evidently occurred; 
but what it was no one would tell. Some of the passengers began 
to grow nervous, and talked about leaving the ship ; others con- 
sidered the stoppage an ominous beginning of what would be a 
perilous voyage; while many cared nothing about the detention 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 15 

or the cause of it, and coollj smoked cigars, and speculated about 
the World's Fair. 

'' We're in for it," said one at my side; '' and, as the ship has 
only broken her engine once in thirty miles, we have cause for 
congratulating each other on the excellence of her machiner}'-, 
and the prospect of reaching Europe in a month.'' I lauded his 
composure in the hour of adversity. We became friends, and 
forgot the accident in each other's company. 

Night gradually approached; the watches were appointed, and 
preparations made for sea; but the vessel remained stationar3^ 
The only incident that occurred worthy of note was a quarrel be- 
tween the first officer and one of the sailors. The tar came on board 
drunk, and when called on deck to take his place in the watch, 
became insolent, and inclined for fight. He was ordered below, 
but disregarded the officer, and drew his knife to plunge it into 
the mate, but was knocked down for his pains, and very uncere- 
moniously tumbled down the hatchway of the forecastle, and the 
hatch closed upon him, so that he might reflect upon his conduct 
in the dark. 

This was our first night out of port, and we were not thirty 
miles on our voyage. The ship was at anchor, her engines out 
of order, and dissatisfaction general among the passengers. The 
cabins were really splendid; but the rich carpets and gaudy 
mirrors, ample saloons and convenient state-rooms, did not make 
the machinery whole. We were about to cross the Atlantic, 
and our engines were already impaired. The captain made the 
best apology he was capable of at the tea-table ; but that did not 
repair the break; and although it was Saturday night, and a glo- 
rious moon shone calmly down upon the placid waters and motion- 
less ship, not one of the passengers was content with his prospects. 
Speculation was busy as to the future; the probabilities of further 
accident were discussed; stories of sinking ships repeated; and one 
by one we stole to our berths with the hope of better prospects on 
the morrow. 

The night passed away, day dawned, the steam was gotten up, 
the anchor hove to the merry and cheerful tones of 

■ "Billy Bonn's a jolly sailor! 
Who stole the ham V 



16 THE FOOXrATH AND HIGHWAY; 

and, as the iron arms of the powerful mass relaxed their hold on the 
muddy depths of the Delaware, the impatient ship dashed proudly 
on her way, as if glad to be once more at liberty. The morning 
was serene, calm, celestial. The soft breeze from the south was 
laden with dews and the breath of flowers, and a more magnificent 
morn never ushered in the Sabbath. Earth and water, air and 
light, all seemed to be glorifying the great Creator, and the little 
birds sang, like the stars of old, praise to Him who reigns forever. 
Every heart was elated; the boders of evil disappeared; hope took 
the place of dissatisfaction ; and as the vessel left one well-known 
point after another far astern, and the day advanced, we began to 
realize the fact that we were really departing. There were seve- 
ral clergymen on board, and as the passengers numbered nearly 
seventy, the captain proposed religious service, which received the 
assent of all, and at the sound of the ship's bell we repaired to 
the saloon, and listened to a sermon by a minister from Erie, Pa. 
The vessel made rapid progress after leaving her anchorage, 
and was soon off Cape Ilenlopen, where she was " lain to,'^ for 
the purpose of discharging her pilot. He took his departure, 
carrying with him a large number of letters from the passengers 
to friends at home. As soon as he was cleverly clear of the ship, 
she was put upon her course, the captain assuming, for the first 
time, the command. The engines worked well, and the sails 
being hoisted immediately, we ran to sea finely, with a ftiir breeze 
and prosperous weather. At three in the afternoon, every vestige 
of the land was gone. I watched the receding line of beach until 
it faded from the sight into the vast body of waters around, and 
felt as if Hope and Hegret, like two sisters, had parted at my 
side — the one to cheer me on the long journey in prospect before 
ine ; the other to dwe41 with those near and dear to me at home. 
Every mile we sailed seaward separated us the farther from our 
friends, and the waters of the ocean grew greener and greener as 
the distance increased, until they finally assumed a deep, ding}^, 
greenish-blue color, by no means brilliant to view. The sun set 
tomewhat obscurely, and the moon and stars shone brightly over 
she restless and tireless waves. The wind veered to the east and 
north, blowing directly against us, and greatly impeding our 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 17 

progress. The sails were all furled, and, in nautical phrase, every- 
thing made snug for the night. 

We were now fairly at sea. The sky bent above us, like the 
counterpart of the ocean beneath, and the waves began to cause 
a motion in our ship by no means agreeable to some of our pas- 
sengers. Neptune, inexorable tyrant, became exacting, and lands- 
men began to grow serious and uneasy, and many of them retired 
at an early hour, not because they were sea-sick, but because 
weariness had overtaken them. 

The first few days out are usually the most disagreeable of a 
voyage, and the passengers are not generally blest with good ap- 
petites. Our breakfast-table, on the morning of the second day, 
was but indifferently attended, and those who did pay their re- 
spects to it were not well. Headaches were prevalent, and the 
motion of the ship was unpleasant; but no one complained of sea- 
sickness — all believed they would escape that malady — and the 
ladies were not even disposed to acknowledge that they were 
suffering from it, although their appearance sufficiently proved 
they were. 

But few persons take much interest in the details of an Atlantic 
voyage unless some remarkable occurrences are recorded ; and, as 
nothing transpired worthy of remark until our fourth day out, it 
will be useless to bore the reader with descriptions of life on 
board. We occasionally saw a '' school'^ of porpoises, a flock of 
petrels, or a fleet of the little mollusque, which sailors call ''Por- 
tuguese men-o'-war \" A fog, so thick that it was impossible to 
see twenty yards from the ship, covered the ocean at one time for 
twenty- four hours. A sharp look-out was kept to prevent acci- 
dent, and the bell tolled at regular intervals, to give the alarm to 
vessels in our vicinity. There was an old tar on board who had 
been at sea forty-seven years, with but little intermission, and he 
usually performed the part of sentinel when it was his watch on 
deck. The sailors favored him, and never allowed him to go 
aloft if they could prevent it. He wore a thick coat when on 
duty in the fog, into the pockets of which he thrust his arms 
quite to the elbows, and stood, like old Neptune himself, gazing into 
the sea ; his bright eye peeking into the mist, with a pleasant 

2* 



18 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

twinkle in it that lit up his ocean-tanned visage with the rays of 
cheerfulness and content. 

" How long have you been going to sea, my gay young fel- 
low ?" said I to him, as he was looking thoughtlessly right into 
the dull mist by which we were surrounded. 

'^ Since I was thirteen," he replied, touching his hat with a 
pleasant smile, " and I never was so dry in the forty-seven years 
I've been a sailor as I am now, sir \" 

" Good !" exclaimed a passenger at my side ; " give the old 
chap some brandy ; he deserves it for that;" and he did get a 
bottle of the best in the ship ; and he and I became the warmest 
of friends. 

The vessel, up to this period, made very fair progress, and 
we had almost forgotten the accident that occurred to her ma- 
chinery while in the Delaware, when a heavy jarring was heard 
in the engine-room, and the ship shook through all her timbers. 
Crash followed crash in quick succession, and the noise was fright- 
ful in the extreme. The passengers were dismayed, and every 
one eager to learn the particulars of the accident, for something 
of a serious character had evidently befallen our engines. The 
nature of the break was made known to us by the captain, and 
we were assured that it was a mere trifle, and would be repaired 
soon. The ship was put under canvass, and as the winds were 
ahead we advanced slowly, the vessel rolling heavily on the waters. 
A cold, gloomy sky spread over us, and the ocean became greatly 
agitated. The day went down without a smile ; the only ray 
visible was a gray streak along the western horizon, which added 
a more dismal appearance, if possible, to the sullen and chafed 
waters. Darkness gathered fast, and, as it increased, and the 
western gleam faded slowly out, the expanse of heaving sea, with 
naught visible but our lonely and crippled ship, rendered the 
scene at once grand, awful, and desolate. 

The accident was remedied about sundown, and the vessel put 
under steam, but the engine did not perform to the satisfoction of 
any, and broke again with a frightful noise early in the evening. 
This time the break was serious, and the officers no longer at- 
tempted to screen from the passengers the actual condition of 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 19 

the ship. The rock-shaft of the air-pump, a very important part 
of our machinery, had snapt asunder, and as there was no 
other on board to replace it, we were in a very unpleasant situa- 
tion. The night was stormy, the condition of the vessel dis- 
heartening, and the passengers were mostly restless and anxious. 
They collected in little groups in various parts of the saloons, 
where they conversed about their prospects. Complaint was loud, 
and the countenance of each was serious in expression. Not a 
single individual had confidence in the machinery, and many con- 
jectures were ventured as to our fate. Sleep fled the lids of the 
faint-hearted, and not many of the courageous sought the drowsy 
god. The night advanced, and each silently retired to his state- 
room, prepared, however, for making his appearance on deck in 
the dark, should his presence be required there. 

During the night, the captain held a consultation with his 
officers as to the best course to be pursued, and the decision was 
to continue the voyage. 

The engines were started occasionally, but they made a fearful 
noise, and the jarring shook the ship from keel to truck. They 
had been changed from the low to the high-pressure principle, in 
the hope that they could be made to perform during the remainder 
of the passage ; but it was found that there was a serious waste 
of steam, in consequence of which the force of the machinery was 
not sufficient to recover the eccentric at each stroke of the piston, 
and when such was the case the propeller would make a reverse 
movement, and a crashing noise would follow that was really 
frightful. In addition to this, we had head-winds to contend 
against, and a moderately rough sea, two things by no means 
calculated to elevate our hopes under the circumstances. 

At the breakfast-table, on the following morning, the captain 
made known his determination to continue the voyage, and as- 
sured us that, although the engines had failed, he had every con- 
fidence in the ship, and was sure that he would accomplish the 
passage without the aid of steam in a reasonable time, or in four 
or five days more than at first supposed. He said that a proposi- 
tion had been uoder consideration to run the vessel to Halifax for 
repairs; but as that port was full six hundred miles from where 



20 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

we then were, it was abandoned, and the voyage continued. The 
jarring of the machinery he regarded as trifling, and of no injury 
to the ship, as it neither caused her to leak nor strained her tim- 
bers. As an evidence of his confidence in the strenorth and sailinfi; 
qualities of the ''Lafayette," and the certainty of reaching port, 
he stated that he had with him three pledges for whose welfare 
he would risk everything he had, and they were a daughter and 
two of her friends, then at his side. If he really thought there 
was danger, he would at once return ; but he did not anticipate any 
further misfortune than delay. This declaration was received with 
pretty general applause by the passengers, although there were 
some who were still doubtful of the ship, and anxious to be on 
shore. 

The day wore away dull enough : the passengers tried to con- 
tent themselves; but, with some, it was impossible. There was 
nothing talked about but our situation and the indifferent machin- 
ery of the ship. Toward evening the winds increased, and a 
land-sparrow, that had taken refuge with us shortly after we lost 
sight of land, was blown overboard. The little trembler had 
grown weak for want of food, and must have starved in a few 
days had he not fallen into the sea. He was quite a pet with 
passengers, but so shy as to keep entirely out of reach. His loss 
was something to talk about aside from our misfortune. 

From this time forward our machinery was constantly out of 
repair. The engines were started at times when the winds were 
favorable, but they never continued to perform long. The waste 
of steam was great, and the jarring of the machinery frequent and 
alarming ; at night particularly so. It was not an unusual cir- 
cumstance for some of the passengers to remain up all night, be- 
cause of the groaning and crashing of the engines, and often did 
we wish the whole propelling power of the vessel deep in the sea. 

Fortunately, the weather was favorable, and the ocean calm. 
For several days we were blest with winds from the right quarter : 
the passengers grew cheerful, and, to add to our enjoyment, the 
engines were purposely stopped, and the jarring, which so much 
annoyed us, entirely suspended. Our time was passed in a man- 
ner most agreeable to ourselves : some reading, souie playing 



21 

drafts, some performing on musical instruments. The favorite 
amusement on deck was promenading, and as we had a clear, un- 
obstructed space of fall two hundred and fifty feet, there was 
ample room for exercise. Our passengers were a goodly company 
in all, and generally sociable and disposed to make themselves 
content. 

The monotony of the voyage was brdicen at times by the ap- 
pearance of a sail. On some days there were as many as five 
seen, while on others none came to view. In the absence of 
something to aiford amusement on deck, I was wont to hang over 
the ship's bows, watching the waves for hours as they broke in 
foam and roared against the vessel's side. Off soundings, the 
waters, which in shallower places are a deep green color, are of a 
bright transparent blue in the sunlight, and when they dash in 
spray against the ship, they look like an azure scarf, trimmed 
with snowy lace, fluttering in the wind. 

Calms are wearying to the passenger, and productive of much 
uneasiness. No person, to look at tlie ocean then, would suppose 
that the unruffled expanse of water, with its long, dull, sweeping 
undulations, could be so aroused as to make a plaything of the 
stoutest ship. Its appearance to me, at such times, has that of a 
vast rolling prairie, whose rich grass was waving in the breeze of 
summer. One evening of quiet, the scene presented was beau- 
tiful in the extreme. The wide, wide ocean was calm save the 
soft undulation on its surface : the sun sunk slowly down below 
the horizon, and flung his gorgeous beams, mellowed and blend- 
ing, along the waters and the sky. The bright rays tinged the 
peaks of the waves, fell in a flood of glory on sea and ship, bathed 
ocean and sky in their golden beams like a blush of joy from the 
great Creator, and then melted away into softened tints, which 
fiided slowly out, each one growing fainter and fainter, and har- 
moniously blending as night obscured the hues, until darkness 
gathered on the face of the deep and silence nestled over the 
waters. 

The incidents of the voyage worth recording were few, but we 
amused ourselves as best we could, and as each felt inclined. 
Dancing was practised by moonlight on deck, an old German gen- 



22 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

tlenian, from Baltimore, plnying the flute, wliile the young ladies 
and beaux gajly moved to the notes of his mellow-toned instru- 
ment. Several evenings, after sunset, the captain mustered all 
the males on deck, and drilled us in true militia style. No raw 
recruits, in the States or elsewhere, ever presented a more laugh- 
able appearance than ourselves, and I venture to say, none ever 
afforded more innocent amusement, or were more benefited by the 
exercise of drilling. We were marched up and down decks, and 
put through every conceivable manoeuvre, the most agreeable of 
which was being conducted into the cabin to enjoy and discuss 
the merits of a tub of excellent punch, prepared by the steward, 
at the captain's expense, for our especial happiness. Speeches 
were usually a part of the evening's entertainment, and songs and 
toasts added to our gratification. The last of these social gather- 
ings w^as gotten up by the passengers in honor of the captain, on 
which occasion one of the company presented the skipper with a 
huge wooden sword, as a token of our appreciation of his services 
as commander-in-chief of the Lafayette Guards. It was sport, if 
nothing else; and while we were so engaged, we were not thinking 
of our broken engines. 

Many trifling things occur at sea that are never alluded to by 
a voyager, or but casually glanced at if mentioned at all. Speak- 
ing a vessel is a frequent event, and there is something grand in 
the sight of a noble ship approaching to hail. Early one Sunday 
evening, when the air was all calm, all serene, one of our passen- 
gers, who was blest with good eyes, discovered, in the distance, a 
faint line of smoke. ''There's a steamer," said he; "an Eng- 
lishman bound to the West Inaies, by the course she's steering." 

We looked in the direction designated, but our optics were 
powerless to discover the reported vessel. The passenger, how- 
ever, insisted that he was right : glasses were brought into requi- 
sition, every eye was turned to the point, we all waited anxiously 
for the mate's report, and were soon relieved of our suspense. 
He slowly dropped his telescope, and, as he did it, a bright smile 
stole softly over his manly countenance, and he uttered a confirma- 
tion of our fellow- voyager's assertion. " She's bearing down 
upon us." 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 23 

" Can you make her out, Mr. H. V inquired the captain, 
bluntly. 

"A large steamer, sir, with side wheels, and I think an 
American.'^ 

The reply was received with a slight acknowledgment, and the 
commander's glass was at once put into requisition. As he low- 
ered it, an order was given to the steersman, and our ship put one 
or two points off her course to meet the sti^anger. She was evi- 
dently approaching, and that rapidly, for it was not long before 
we could see her distinctly. 

On she came — on — on — and as she gradually neared us, her 
hull and form hove in sight. All the glasses on board were 
brought into requisition. To those who were lucky enough to 
have one, many a question was directed, and all were anxious to 
get a look at the stranger. The ships neared rapidly now, and 
our second mate, a methodical, quiet, determined fellow, told us 
that the vessel approaching was the American steamship Wash- 
ington, of the New York and Bremen line. He had been an 
officer in her once, and knew her long before we had an opportu- 
nity to hail her. 

On she came, nearer and nearer, and, as she approached us, larger 
and larger grew her form until she appeared like a huge monster of 
the deep, crushing the waves as haughtily beneath her tread as a 
proud lion would the waving grass. Her decks were crowded with 
human beings, and the foam roared and hissed beneath her bows. 
Our steam was shut off, and we quietly waited until she was 
abreast our ship, when the captain stepped upon the rail, told 
our condition, and asked to be reported. The Washington offered 
assistance, but, as we required nothing that he could furnish, it 
was declined. As soon as the conversation was ended, we gave 
three hearty cheers, which were responded to by those on board 
the stranger. Another and another followed, and each vessel 
went on her way. The Washington rapidly left us, and when we 
went on deck after tea she was hull down, far astern of us, and at 
dusk had disappeared. Some of our passengers had prepared 
letters for the purpose of throwing them on board, but the dis- 
tance between the two ships was too great, and closer proximity 



24 THE FOOTrATH AND HIGHWAY } 

would have been dangerous, however much it might have been 
desired. 

Our passengers were of many countries and dispositions. 
There were real gentlemen, and those who never can be such : 
and true, upright men in rough clothing ', and exquisite and pul- 
ing fops in broadcloth — a compound at once varied and strange. 
I had for room-mate a native of South Carolina, then hailing from 
Mississippi, and a finer specimen of the Southron seldom comes 
under one's notice. A planter of the South, he possessed all the 
good qualities of his race, with but few, if any, of their objection- 
able ones, and was in every respect a polished gentleman. Next 
to him, in my estimation, was a naturalized citizen of the United 
States, returning to England on a visit to his mother, after an 
absence of thirty-six years. There was an old German on board, 
who had crossed the Atlantic twelve times ; a Frenchman of easy, 
graceful manners, who was then on his sixth voyage over the deep. 
He sang well, and at our social gatherings, after evening parade, 
amused us with the Marseillaise hymn in his native tongue. 
There were other Europeans who were returning home on visits 
to friends, and a number of Americans on their way to the Great 
Exhibition. There was with us a young Kentuckian, who de- 
serves particular mention. He was about five feet four inches 
high, nearly as broad as he was long, had light hair and mous- 
tache to correspond, and was truly an original character. He 
played cards and sleight-o'-hand tricks, spoke French, and gallanted 
the ladies about the decks, drank brandy and smoked cigars, 
chewed tobacco and sat up the greater part of the night gaming, 
and, to crown his accomplishments, managed to keep everybody in 
complete ignorance of who and what he was; and yet, for all, he 
was one of the best-natured and most sociable fellows in the world. 

Early rising is not often indulged in by passengers at sea, and 
but few who cross the Atlantic behold the sun emerge from his 
watery bed. I arose one morning at half past three o'clock for 
the purpose of seeing him rise in his glory, and I shall never re- 
gret breaking my sleep for such a splendid view as the burniog 
orb presented to my gaze. First, there was a pale yellow light, 
which tipped the edges of the dancing waves with hues of gold, 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 25 

and then a rim of fire, intensely bright, pierced the watery horizon. 
For an instant it was motionless, then it grew larger, and the vast 
globe of flame ascended resplendently up the morning sky, its 
piercing rays chasing the mists before them over the burning deep. 
It was a glorious scene : the waves were like liquid fire dancing 
in the sunlight, and the flying mists were rushing like frighted 
spirits over the waters : the sky was brilliant with crimson, sap- 
phire, purple, and gold, and it seemed to me as if water and cloud, 
sea and sky, were singing a morning hymn to the Deity. Such a 
scene will repay a man for the anguish produced by sea-sickness, 
and that amounts almost to agony. 

On our twenti^h day out, we found ourselves off the coast of 
Ireland. ^Ye were all on the look-out for land. Sails were fre- 
quent, and the less venturous sea-birds numerous. Our captain 
announced his determination to run into Cork for coals, provided 
we could get a pilot. We were not long without one. A coarse- 
looking, sloop-rigged craft, in appearance like a dull sailing, dirty 
fishing- boat, hove in sight on our port-bow, and bore down for us. 
She was a sorry-looking affair compared with the beautiful fairy 
little cruiser of our Cape Henlopen pilot. As she approached us, 
we could make her out distinctly; but I am sorry to say that she 
did not improve on inspection. She was a beggarly, begrimed tub, 
filled with a crew of Corkonians — and they were unmistakable. 
One " jontleman" hailed us : we lay to — he lowered a cockle-shell 
of a boat — two or three of his men tumbled over him into it — the 
oars were plied lustily, and the first representative of her majesty's 
subjects that it was my lot to see fairly on the European side of 
the Atlantic came on board our ship. He was '' Ould Irelan'^ 
complete, even to the pipe, and as exacting as possible. The pilot 
was called into the captain's cabin for business purposes, while we 
scrutinized his heauti/id craft — a thing that looked to me as if 
she might have been the tender to Tom Hood's phantom ship, 
the Mary Ann, of Shields : — 

Hei' mast was black, her decks were black, 

And so her hull and rails ; 
Her shrouds were black, her flag was black, 

Aud so were all lier sails. 



26 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

She evidently wanted scrubbing '^ aloft and alow," and lier 
crew were quite as much in want of a treat to soap and cold 
water as any of the race I ever saw before. 

We soon resumed our course, the pilot directing it, and keeping 
the ship towards the land. The miles grew fewer between us and 
it, and before mid-day the cry that has cheered many a despairing 
soul rang through our ship — Land ! land, ho ! and every eye was 
turned to catch a glimpse of Pisgah's top — a faint line which 
appeared a dull leaden cloud resting on the horizon, but gave to the 
uninitiated eye no indications of solid earth until we approached 
to within a few miles. As the distance diminished, it became 
distinct, and the bold rocky shores arose, towering over the sea. 
We soon could trace the roads, the hedges, the stone walls, the 
thatched huts ; and then we saw men and women moving to and 
fro in the fields, at the labor of the farm. There was the Emerald 
Isle, or a portion of it; and treeless it was, too. Kinsale Head 
was passed, and then other points followed, and our ship soon 
gained the entrance to the famous Cove of Cork. As we ap- 
proached, there was evident curiosity among the people on shore 
as to our craft and her errand. Numbers of small boats came out 
to meet us, and cheers and shouts went up on all sides. We were 
hurried on past forts Camden and Caroline, two frowning defences, 
one on either side the strait. They ran up their flags as a salute ; 
and as all things were in readiness with us, guns loaded and 
primed, ensigns rove and men at their post, an order was passed 
to the crew to stand by their colors ; and at the sound of the bell 
our carronades were fired, and the " starry banner" and the 
blood-red flag of St. George floated from our mast's head. The 
hills echoed and re-echoed the report of our guns, until the sound 
came back to us for the twentieth time, and the hollow booming 
roused like magic the entire population of Queenstown. As soon 
as we were cleverly into the harbor, our vision was greeted by 
some splendid scenery. There lay the town, directly in front, 
with its beautiful villas and white houses rising in terraces on the 
hill-side, until they crowned the top. The noble sheet of water 
stretched out for several miles to the right and left, while Spike 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 27 

Island, with its barracks and formidable fortresses, reposed like a 
sleeping war-dog near by. 

We were all excitement and admiration ; the town was fall of 
bustle and curiosity about the stranger, boats full of the natives 
were around us, and ^' Huzzas for America !" welcomed us as we 
moved on. 

We soon gained a f\ivorable point; an order was passed to the 
men we all could hear, as it was clear and intelligible, '' Let go 
that anchor I" 

'^ Ay, ay, sir!" was the response; and the huge cable began 
to grate and ring as the heavy mass slipped into the sea. The 
hoarse roar of the ponderous chain soon ceased — our ship swung 
slowly round with the tide, and lay like a tired giant at rest upon 
the placid waters. 



CHAPTER II. 

SOMETHING ABOUT IRELAND. 

Our visit to Ireland was unexpected and of short duration, but 
sufficiently long to give us a fair opportunity of seeing how the 
lower class of Irish live. We landed at Queenstown on Friday 
afternoon, May 30th, 1851, where we were immediately sur- 
rounded by a throng of beggars, at once the lowest and meanest 
I ever saw. They followed us, pleading for pence, and hung to 
us like wax. There was no shaking them oiF, unless you put 
them aside by force, or gave them into the charge of a police officer. 
In addition to their half-starved appearance, they were barefooted, 
and not one in every ten had sufficient clothing to hide his naked- 
ness. No drunken Indian ever presented a more revolting spec- 
tacle than did these beggars of Queenstown. They were filthy, 
and covered with vermin; so much so, indeed, as to make me 
shudder to think of them for days after, and cause my flesh to 
creep with the idea that I had unfortunately come into too close 
contact with them, and gotten a share of the wandering tribes that 



28 THE FOOTPATH AND IIIGHWAY; 

roamed unmolested over their skin. This, fortunately, was not 
the case; but I could not divest my mind of the idea, until a 
thorough bathing and cleansing relieved me of the dust and 
atmosphere of the town. 

Old and young — men and women — naked and clothed — they 
gathered around us in a regular mob, and begged with as much 
earnestness as a lawyer pleads a cause. There was no means of 
getting them away but by violence, or flying for refuge into an 
open door, and it was doubtful whether you would succeed then. 
We drove the mendicant throng off as well as we could, and 
managed to shelter ourselves in a hotel. Here, while partaking 
of refreshments, we were welcomed, on behalf of some gentle- 
men present, in a neat and appropriate speech by one of the com- 
pany. He spoke in a slow, distinct manner, selecting his words 
with great care, and took occasion to say many flattering things 
of the tJnited States. The incident was happy, and, to us, 
agreeable, as it was unexpected. Each Irishman here was a 
gentleman, and each educated and refined, genteel in dress and 
manners, and possessing most excellent social qualities. They 
were in every sense polished and friendly, and gave us abundant 
proof of their sincerity and hospitality. I do not believe that a 
more appropriate reception of strangers could be gotten up than 
the one so unexpectedly tendered our company, or that a more 
gentlemanly set of men could be found than the Irishmen of 
whom I speak. They were candid, bland, sociable, and refi^ncd; 
and their conduct made a lasting impression on our minds. One 
of the passengers returned thanks for the reception given us, 
and we joined in three hearty, enthusiastic cheers for old Ireland, 
and separated, each and every one highly delighted with the true 
Irish gentleman, and with a more favorable opinion of the inhabit- 
ants of Queenstown than we thought it possible for us ever to 
entertain at the time of our landing. In an hour we had the two 
extremes of Irish social distinctions set before us, and were glad 
to find so much that is really noble in a place where at first we 
thought there was nothing but ignorance, sloth, mendicity, im- 
morality, and suflfciing. 

Queenstown is romantically located, and presents an attractive 



29 

appearance to the stranger. The houses are built on streets which 
rise like terraces one above the other, until thc}^ crown the hills 
which overlook the spacious Cove of Cork. Some of the residences 
of the gentry are really splendid, and in them is to be found all 
that a man can desire to make him happy. 

All along the river Lee, a beautiful little stream which runs 
into the Cove, and on which the city of Cork stands, there are 
many handsome mansions and a great deal of fine scenery. Trees 
are scarce, except in the parks, but the land is cultivated down to 
the river's brink, and that in the highest state. At one point 
along the stream we noticed a large building, with two high tow- 
ers, rising like sentinels up to heaven, and, on inquiring, learned 
that it was a memorial to Father Matthew, erected by a tailor of 
Cork in commemoration of the services of that distinguished man.' 
A number of pretty little cottages peeped out from ivy and flowers 
as we passed, and the ruins of an old building, hung over with 
ivy, reminded us that we were in one of the lands of Eld. The 
dwellings of the poor, when seen and compared with those of the 
wealthy, were the merest hovels imaginable. At a distance, the 
shores and villages looked inviting; but no sooner was foot set upon 
the soil than wretchedness and misery met us at almost every turn. 

Cork has ever been famous on both sides of the Atlantic for 
the beauty of its harbor and the hospitality of its inhabitants; but 
no traveller has yet given the world a correct picture of the 
degradation and wretchedness of its pauper population. On our 
side of the ocean, we occasionally hear vague accounts of the 
condition of the peasantry in the south of Ireland ; and at one 
period, when a desolating famine prevailed in that portion of the 
island, a ship was freighted and sent from our shores with succor 
to the famished and dying. This exhibition of a nation's be- 
nevolence and charity is remembered by the inhabitants of Cork 
and the adjacent country with the liveliest feelings of gratitude, 
and no American visits that city, at present, without receiving a 
cordial and affectionate welcome from the upper classes of society. 
The wealthy portion of the community praise our philanthropy, 
while the poor heap benedictions and prayers upon our heads. 
We are regarded by them as a favored and prosperous people; 



30 THE FOOTrATII AND IIIGnWAY ; 

but, alas for poor degraded Ireland, the American who visits her 
shores must shudder at her wretchedness, and mourn over her 
almost hopeless misery. 

At Cork, the beggars were far worse than they were at Qaecns- 
town, and their perseverance and energy were worthy of a better 
cause than the one in which they were employed. Men, women, 
and children waylaid us in such numbers as to completely ob- 
struct our passage, and we were scarcely able to drive them off. 
The women were the most shameless of slatterns, and made open 
propositions, of the most revolting character, without a blush. 
How the respectable portion of the inhabitants content them- 
selves to live in such a community is a mystery ; and the only 
way to account for it is by supposing that they are so accustomed 
to beggars and harlots that they regard them as a necessary evil, 
not worth removing from their town. The men were but little 
better than the women in point of morality. Their unblushing 
impudence knew no check; and they were as far below the beg- 
gars of Queenstown as I thought the latter below the drunken 
savage. The women would take a man by the arm and insist 
upon his company, and when they found it impossible to induce 
him to comply, they would commence with a shower of obscenity 
so horrible and profanely vile, as to make one think them dwellers 
of Pandaimonium let loose, for a while, to pollute and slime the 
earth. 

Our company divided; some lodging at the Victoria, others at 
the Imperial, the two largest hotels of the city. I arose at an 
early hour the follov/ing morning, and took a stroll about the 
place. Although the sun was high, there were no shops open, 
but few people in the street, and scarcely a beggar visible — a most 
remarkable circumstance to me, when I recalled to mind tlic crowds 
of the previous night. The thoroughfares were comparatively 
deserted, and the few persons who were abroad were of the la- 
boring class. The houses of Cork are generally well built, par- 
ticularly those in the fashionable and business portions. When 
I speak of houses, I make no reference, of course, to the hovels 
of the beggars ; my remarks apply only to the dwellings and 
stores of the affluent and favorably circumstanced. The homes 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 31 

of the mendicfint population of Cork are dens of wretchedness, 
unfit for human habitations. 

By eight o'clock the streets began to present some activity, 
and when we returned to them after our morning meal they were 
alive with ragged beggars. It was a mystery where they came 
from. Every stone must have concealed one, as did the bracken 
the warriors of Roderick Dhu, until the time arrived for them 
to reveal themselves. They were countless, hungry, importunate, 
impudent, servile, cringing, and eminently persevering in asking 
alms. Not one of them had breakfasted, according to his own 
account; and ''be plased, yer honor, to give me a ha'penny to get 
somethin' to ate," was the sum total of their petition. When a 
few coppers were thrown them, they gathered them up with 
eagerness, elbowing and thumping each other gloriously to get 
at the money ; nor were the successful ones satisfied with their 
gains, but became more importunate than they were at first. 
Flattery and persuasion — appeals and threats — were alike used 
for the purpose of obtaining alms, and the news of our liberality 
spread like wildfire, if I may judge from the number of raga- 
muffins that came thronging round us. I thought all the rags 
in creation were on the backs of our energetic, screeching, 
screaming besiegers; and they were of all ages, from the octo- 
genarian to the puling infant in its mother's arms. The race 
was evidently productive, and there is but little doubt of Ireland 
being able to produce her quota of men, whether starvation pre- 
vails or not. Poverty in Cork is favorable to reproduction, and 
the low Irish generate as rapidly as negroes in slavery. 

The crowd grew denser and denser ; Paddy became pugnacious, 
and a stray fist occasionally found its way into the face of a 
friend of its owner's just before it. ''Be aisy, Pat Mulonyj" 
"Kape yer elbows in yer pockets, Ted Murphy;" "Och, yer a 
fine Amerikin jointleman, sir! and ye'll throw me the sixpence ye 
hould in yer hand," and such like expressions and compliments, 
were numerous. We were literally beleaguered by the rabble, 
until the attention of the police was attracted to the mob, and 
that useful body made their appearance. The blue coats struck 
terror into Pat, and the cowardly band fled like criminals before 



32 THE FOOTPATH AND highway; 

them. In a mucli less time than it takes mc to write the story, 
the whole mass vanished like a litter of young rabbits. Some, 
more daring than the rest, returned to the charge as soon as they 
thought the officers out of the way; but they came cautiously — 
sneaking along as if expecting a blow from some unseen hand, 
and glancing occasionally to the right and left for a policeman, 
the sight of whom was sufficient to cause a precipitate and inglo- 
rious retreat. Our imprudence caused the guardians of the public 
peace some work. Paddy was too wide awake to let the ^^Jointle- 
men" who threw pennies about so liberally escape easily, and 
when we secured jaunting cars and set out on a trip to the coun- 
try, we had a train of honor, composed of Cork beggars, to 
escort us on our way, nor did we get rid of the pestering rascals 
readily. A few pence thrown to them, in hopes of being an in- 
ducement for them to discontinue their appeals, was encourage- 
ment for them to follow. They knew " the value of peace and 
quiet" too well to be satisfied with trifles, and ran after us for 
several miles. As we passed through the purlieus of the town, 
our retinue increased, and, I am sorry to say, the additions were 
far from desirable. Carroty-headed, uncombed females, old and 
young, joined our guard of honor, and Falstaflf's ragged regiment 
was a princely set out, to our escort, AYe had no other way of 
relieving ourselves of the incubus than using the whip, and that 
effected our object. They skulked at once, and from flattery 
turned to abuse. ''Ye mane, beastly Yankees, the likes of you 
jointlemen !" " Sueugh ! yer a set o' sneakin' thaves, and bad 
luck to ye all !" was the vote of thanks that followed us from the 
exacting knaves. 

We dashed boldly out into the country, and soon enjoyed the 
beauties of rural scenery. Our drive was about twelve miles, 
going and returning, full of interest to us and highly instructive. 
There were twelve in our company, four to each jaunting car, an 
open vehicle, with seats for that number in addition to the driver. 
The passengers sit facing the wheels, and have excellent opportu- 
nities for observation. It is an odd way of riding, but for all, 
agreeable. Our whip was a fair specimen of his race, talkative 
in the extreme, and well informed. The roads attracted our ad- 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 33 

miration, and they certainly deserved it. They are so beautifully 
smooth, so evenly made, that all jolting is avoided, and you roll 
over them as softly as if on a floor. They are not lined with 
wood-fences as with us, but with substantially built stone walls, 
or hedges of sweet blossoming hawthorn, the odors from which 
impregnate the air like incense. The fields were highly cultivated, 
there being scarcely a spot untilled. Trees. were rare, except in 
the parks, where we noticed many varieties, natives to the coun- 
try, besides exotics. The rural residences of the gentry on the 
route were beautiful places, there being no expense spared by the 
proprietors to make each an earthly paradise. Some of them 
were perched upon hills towering 'above trees and shrubbery, rich 
flowers, and clambering ivy; others were quietly nestled in secluded 
nooks, at a short distance from the highway, and only visible at 
openings in the groves, through which they peered, like shy young 
maidens who are curious to see, yet fear to be seen. They all 
wore an aristocratic air, and looked the very habitations of ease 
and affluence. If they were a fair sample of all the rural abodes 
of Ireland, then we might reasonably expect to see a happy and 
contented people there ; but, unfortunately^, they are not. 

I was anxious to learn something of the peasantry, and to see 
their dwellings, and observe their mode of living. There were 
abundant opportunities for observation, and, jumping from the 
car, I soon had a chance to gratify my curiosity. I entered one 
of the hedge-cottages, on the plea of getting a drink of water, and 
never did I dream that human beings could be so degraded and 
sunken in poverty and wretchedness as were the occupants of that 
sty. Their condition was brutal beyond conjecture, and the 
place was such as we in the United States would not put a worth- 
less cur into. There were but the four bare walls, a thatched 
roof,. with a hole in it, as an apology for a chimney; a ground 
floor, no windows, and not a single article one could con- 
scientiously call furniture. In one corner sat an old woman, 
picking vermin from the person of a little girl, and apparently 
well pleased with her occupation. There were no bed, no stove, 
and no cooking utensils of any consequence in the place; no 
chairs, a single table, which would barely hold together, and a 



o4 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

pack of filthy rags on the floor for bedding. The only means of 
light was the door, and that was so low as scarcely to admit a 
person in an upright position. In this miserable hovel there 
were nine human hein<js, all women and children, not one of 
whom had sufficient covering to hide her nakedness, or even 
give to the beholder the idea that she was clad. They were 
barefooted and bareheaded. Neither of them owned a bonnet, 
and shoes were what they never had. On inquiry of the woman, 
who answered my questions, I was told that her husband was a 
farm-laborer, and earned about five shillings per week, out of 
which sum he paid tenpence rent for the hut above described, 
and supported a family of twelve persons. What their food was, 
can be surmised from the sum devoted to its purchase ; and as 
provisions are dearer in Ireland than in the United States, there 
is reason to suppose that oatmeal and potatoes comprised the 
assortment. So the woman said, and she probably told the truth. 
"What else could be obtained for the sum that would suffice for 
twelve persons ? 

The other cottages at which I stopped were, with trifling ex- 
ceptions, similar to the one mentioned, and, the occupants were 
soulless, cringing, listless wretches, but little above brutes, and 
not so intelligent as some dumb animals. We met several labor- 
ers at work on the roads, who told us their wages varied from 
sixpence to one shilling per day; out of which sum they are 
obliged to pay rent, and find food for their families. 

Our destination was Blarney Castle, the name of which is 
famous the world over. We arrived at the lodge-gate earl}^ in 
the day, and, leaving our conveyances there, walked up to the old 
ruins. The hawthorn hedges sent up their delicious perfume, 
and thousands of flowers around added their odors to the incense 
from the new-mown hay. We found the castle much decayed, 
and overhung with a net of ivy. The walls are worn and broken 
in places, but still tower to the height of one hundred feet. We 
ascended by a spiral stone stairway to the top, from which we 
had a splendid view of the valley below — of waving cornfields, 
extensive parks, numerous cottages, and large dwellings. Here 
we met several of our fellow-passengers, amoug whom were three 



35 

young ladies, all of whom were delighted with the scenery and 
ruins. The thick walls, dark cells, secret passages, and deserted 
halls were new to us, and we were reminded by them that we 
were in a historic land. Among the curiosities, we were shown 
the world-renowned " Blarney Stone," which is placed on the top 
of one of the walls of the building, from whence it derives its 
name. Visitors usually touch it, and the wear it receives from 
the constant laying on of hands keeps it highly polished. The 
castle is said to be seven hundred and thirty years old, and was 
for a long period the residence of a distinguished Irish nobleman, 
or petty monarch, O'Soraething — 7! don't remember what — whose 
race and history have alike perished, leaving no other memorial 
than the walls of Blarney, and the legends connected with them. 

The estate contains about eighteen hundred acres, nearly all of 
which is under cultivation. Five hundred men are constantly 
employed upon it, at fair wages for Ireland ; and they generally 
appear content with their lot. There are full as many cattle as 
men on the estate, and, from my own observations, they are bet- 
ter sheltered in stormy weather than the peasantry, and far better 
cared for. The stables in which they are kept are infinitely su- 
perior to the hedge cottages. 

The attendants were exceedingly polite, and numerous. There 
was one to bow us through the delicious groves of Blarney, an- 
other to guide us through the castle, one to show us the stables, 
and one to accompany us back to the gate. A very attentive 
and obliging people they were, and their plan of subdividing 
labor was remarkable. But cannot one do all? thought I, and 
the answer came readily: "That won't do; each one of these 
has his post, and each expects, ay, demands, pay for thrusting 
himself into your service, and will get it. If there were but one, 
he would get a sixpence from each; but as there are four, each 
gets his fee, and you are the suiFerer — they the gainers.'^ And 
my reasoning was correct. "Be plased to remimber me, zur! I 
took ye till the castle," was the appeal of one, and the same 
came from the balance, with suitable modifications. We each 
paid eighteen-pence at the ruins, and thought we were released; 
but no, by no means. The coarse, vulgar slattern at the lodge 



36 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWxYY ; 

had a claim " for standin' by the gate till yer honors returned ;" 
hut it was not allowed, and we received her pious benediction. 
Coaxing and flattery were tried at first, but they failed ; and then 
she abused, as only the low and beastly can abuse. The word 
"Yankee" was frequent in the torrent of slime she bespattered 
us with, and the " likes o' ye jointlemen \" was the last expres- 
sion of hers that reached our ears. 

We rolled away towards Cork, over a splendid road, different 
from the one by which we left the city. The weather was warm, 
the atmosphere quivered with heat; but still the air was not very 
oppressive. The rapid motion of our car created a current, and 
kept us cool. The peasantry we met were a degraded race, and 
nearly all barefooted, and without energy, except to beg ; and it 
surprised me that some of them mustered courage for that, when 
I considered their laziness. Two or three of the boys ran after 
our conveyances full five miles in expectation of securing a penny, 
and, poor wretches, they earned it. 

The scenery by the return route was really beautiful. At one 
point of the turnpike, where there was a sudden turn, a splendid 
valley burst unexpectedly on our view, like a fairy scene. Around 
it arose an amphitheatre of hills, and through it meandered a 
gurgling stream, on whose banks waved the rich verdure of the 
Emerald Isle. An old castle, ivy-covered, crowned an eminence, 
and in the far distance peered up the spires of the city. 

But few farm-houses, worthy of the name, met our sight. "We 
saw one or two that had a neat appearance, as if they were the 
abodes of comfort; but they were all. The cottages, or huts, were 
numerous, and in some instances so small as to be scarcely seen, 
or distinguished from mud-banks. In the whole route, we saw 
but one solitary female with shoes on, among the peasantry, and 
she was a curiosity. The balance were barefooted and bare- 
headed; but, although the weather was quite warm, if either of 
them had an old cloak, no matter how ragged it was, she had it 
on. They looked worse than half-civilized Indians with us, by 
far, and were surely more degraded and brutalized. Their long, 
dark hair hung loosely over their shoulders, and their black eyes 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 37 

and brown complexions brouglit to my mind the gypsies of which 
we hear so much and see so little. 

As we neared the city, we met throngs of poor on their way to 
witness a military review about to take place in honor of the 
Queen's birthday. It was probably a favorable time to observe 
the mendicant inhabitants of Cork, as on such occasions they 
generally turn out en masse. The number of beggars is beyond 
computation; but, as the population of the place is nearly one hun- 
dred and twenty thousand, it would not be far off the mark to 
set the alms-askers down at one-third that number, or forty 
thousand who are dependent mainly upon beggary for support in 
Cork only. To Americans who know nothing of the lower class 
of Irish in their native land, this may appear an exaggeration, 
but actual observation will confirm the statement. They are so 
numerous that it is impossible for a person to walk fifty yards in 
the city, during business hours, without meeting a score of them. 
The merchants and tradesmen are gentlemanly in their deport- 
ment, and take evident pleasure in showing kindness and hospi- 
tality to strangers ; but when spoken to concerning the laboring 
poor and mendicants, exhibit but little sympathy for that class, 
and try to avoid allusion to them, and assert that the wretched- 
ness and misery into which they have fallen are attributable to 
habits of indolence and crime. There appears to be a wall of 
adamant between the laborer and the respectable caste, and a 
hatred of each other as strong as ever existed between rival tribes 
of savages. The rich spurn and trample the poor, and the poor 
hate them in return for their pains. 

The review was not on an extensive scale, about four thousand 
troops only being out. Among them we noticed a regiment of 
pensioners, or soldiers who by long service had become entitled 
to a discharge from the army, with a small annual allowance. 
Their number was about eight hundred ; the most of them were 
Irish, and all appeared to be as fond of military display and 
showy uniforms as young recruits. A park of artillery bellowed 
forth its thunder furiously, and the rattle of small-arms, at one 
time, was continuous, giving the uninitiated a faint idea of the 
roar and turmoil of battle. Every regiment was attended by an 
4 



88 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY^ 

excellent band, and the music was to us the most attractive fea- 
ture of the display. What surprised us most was the variety of 
uniforms, each regiment having a different dress, and only one of 
all wore the famous '' red coats" so much despised by our patriotic 
forefathers. 

While viewing the parade, we entered into conversation with 
several of the assembled spectators, who knew where we were, 
from. They spoke of the condition of Ireland, particularly of 
the South, and, pointing to the troops as they filed off, their 
showy uniforms and glittering arms gleaming in the sun, said 
that " thousands of poor were starving around, and no aid fur- 
nished them by the government, while an army was sustained in 
their midst, at an enormous expense, to keep them in subjection. 
W^e have nearly eight thousand soldiers among us, in time of 
peace, whose sole duty is to keep us quiet, and hold us in awe.'^ 
I thought the spectacle one worth a few remarks. Here was a 
standing army among an ignorant, brutalized, idle, and starving 
peasantry, maintained at an enormous expense to keep the race 
in submission, and not one penny expended to better its con- 
dition. The general appearance of the throng was similar to that 
of the laboring men we had seen in our morning's ride. Their 
clothing was rags, their conduct debased. 

One of the first objects that attracted my attention in Cork 
was a small donkey, harnessed to a cart about the size of a wheel- 
barrow, followed by a barefooted woman, who was busily engaged 
in gathering up the filth and offal that she found in the street. 
Afterwards I observed the same thing frequently, and noticed 
girls and men gathering the dung of animals, with their hands, 
from the highways. Some of the females were among the ugliest 
creatures alive, and with dirty faces, mopped hair, and ragged 
garments, looked like so many "weird sisters.^' No one who has 
not seen the laboring poor and mendicant population of Ireland, 
on their own soil, can form a correct estimate of their wretched- 
ness, or the degradation into which they are sunk. Suffering is 
the badge of their tribe, and idleness and crime results of their 
condition. 

We remained in the city until Saturday afternoon, when our 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 39 

passengers returned to the ship. Every arrangement having 
been completed, the anchor was hove up, and by sunset the 
Lafayette was once more laying her course for the port of her 
destination. Forts Caroline and Camden were passed, and before 
the long summer twilight had faded out, we were again upon the 
ocean, and out of sight of miserable, sunken, and forlorn Ire- 
land. 

In the previous pages I have described what I saw in Ireland, 
and that in language suited to the subject. Some readers may 
condemn the tone, and deem it harsh ; but the case warranted it, 
and I have no apology to make. Human misery never delighted 
me. My sympathies are with the poor and the downtrodden of 
the human race, no matter where they dwell, or what their 
country or complexion. A mere description of the wretchedness 
and misery of the poverty-stricken and cruvshed, as given by an 
observer, is not an evidence of ill feeling towards them on his 
part; nor must it be so considered. My sketch of the lower class 
of Irish, as I saw them, is correct, and I appeal to those who 
were with me for proof of the assertion. It is written to convey 
to American readers, as near as a pen and ink picture can, an 
idea of the actual condition of the Irish poor. We see much 
misery in the United States among the immigrants from the Eme- 
rald Isle ; but we do not see Irish wretchedness in its worst form, 
and Heaven forbid we ever should! That people have been the 
subject of remark for years; their condition has been commented 
upon by friends and foes, each of whom assigns a reason for their 
degradation; but it must be confessed that few have sought to 
better their circumstances. Philanthropists have made attempts 
to alleviate their distress, but never succeeded to any great extent, 
for several reasons : one of which is that they have never yet laid 
the axe at the root of the evil. They merely apply the remedy 
to the surface, and fail to touch the seat of disease. Each set of 
philanthropists acts according to its views of the case, and as each 
views the Irish with a sectarian's eye, each effects nothing. I do 
not pretend to say that Catholicism either degrades or elevates 
the people of Ireland; but I do say that no reforms will ever be 



40 THE rooTPATii and iiiGmvAY; 

effected among them by those who run counter to their religious 
notions. The best means of raising them from their present con- 
dition is education. Teach them to regard themselves as human 
beings, and create in them feelings of self-respect and manly inde- 
penJence, and more good will be effected among them than all the 
relief you can give them against physical want. But few of them 
at home possess a spark of manliness; but so soon as they reach 
countries where they are treated by the respectable and intelli- 
gent as human beings, so soon do they become different in every 
respect, and stand forth men. Much of their servility is attribu- 
table to the manner in which what they are pleased to call their 
superiors treat them : and so long as the educated and wealthy of 
Ireland continue to look upon their poor as little better than swine, 
and treat them like spiritless animals, only to be spurned, so long 
will their country be full of beggars and sunken humanity. They 
complain loudly at times of oppression on the part of the govern- 
ment, and poetically deplore the condition of their less fortunate 
countrymen ; but such expressions will not produce reform. They 
should act, and not bewail — educate, and not keep in ignorance ; 
and the change would soon be observed. The mendicant would 
become industrious, the peasant intelligent, and 'the people happy. 
Priestcraft would lose its hold, and rational religion take the place 
of bigotry and stultified adoration of forms and pageants. The 
Irish are susceptible of improvement; and all that is required to 
prove the fact is to try them. They are not deficient in intellect, 
nor aptness for learning,, and if they were properly educated, they 
would be equal to the best of the English peasantry, come from 
where they will. Philanthropists should establish schools, and 
Irish gentlemen should treat their poor fellow-countrymen as if 
they were men, not brutes — beings endowed with the same facul- 
ties as themselves; and between the two classes they would soon' 
produce a reform in the degraded that would be lasting and won- 
derful. Ages must elapse under the present state of things 
before the lower Irish can be raised to a position of respectability, 
or even decency. 



41 



CHAPTER III. 

LIVERPOOL. 

With a calm sea, and pleasant breeze, our ship made rapid pro- 
gress during the night and following- Sabbath, and by sundown of 
that day we discovered land immediately ahead, which was ascer- 
tained to be Bardsey Island, the western extremity of Wales. The 
ship was kept on her course during the night, but great care exer- 
cised in consequence of the danger of the navigation, and at an 
early hour on Monday morning an English pilot came on board. 
We ran up the channel and bay, passing the Isle of Anglesey, 
and the northern coast of Wales in full sight. The shores were 
not so precipitous as those of Ireland, nor were they so productive ; 
but there were more houses, and the appearance of greater com- 
fort about the dwellings. We rapidly neared the port of Liver- 
pool, and passed Bell Buoy, a floating boat supporting a frame, 
on which is placed a large bell, so situated as to toll constantly 
by the action of the waves, and so powerful in tone as to be heard, 
in favorable winds, a distance of five miles. Black-rock light 
came into view next, and then the grim town, so famous the world 
over for its foreign trade and massive docks. By mid-day the ship 
was abreast of her haven of rest, announcing her arrival with her 
own guns. The tide was up, we ran along-side a dock at once, 
and our luggage was taken to the custom-house, where it was ex- 
amined by a gentlemanly set of officers in a few minutes ; none of 
the passengers being annoyed in the least by unnecessary scrutiny 
or close searching. Those who cheerfully and willingly opened 
their trunks, and exhibited a desire to have their luggage ex- 
amined, were permitted to pass without the slightest detention ; 
while those who gave evasive answers were made to pay duty for 
such articles as were excisable. I was asked whether there was 
anything contraband in my trunks, and thinking it best to be 

4* 



42 THE FOOTPATH AND IlIGnWAY; 

honest, I candidly told the officer that there were some articles on 
■which I believed there was duty, and gave him my keys to examine. 
He made a very slight search, and took some books and daguerreo- 
types out; but as the latter were presents, and the former American 
works, all were returned me without revenue being exacted. The 
officers were a gentlemanly, obliging, and friendly set of men, and 
were remarkably lenient to those who frankly told them what the 
contents of their trunks were ; but to those who tried to evade 
the customs, they were scrupulously exact. A clergyman of our 
company, when asked, stated that he had neither tobacco nor 
cigars; but as his teeth bore evidence that he used the weed, 
search was made, and a considerable quantity of the Virginia pro- 
duct found. He attempted an excuse, but it was too late; the 
officials were not disposed to be deceived, and confiscated his stock, 
with a gentle hint that he was fortunate to escape so easily, and 
an intimation that he had better cease from lying, as it would be 
more creditable to him as a follower of Christ. He was an Eng- 
lishman, and grew a little surly with her majesty's servants, in 
consequence of the rebuke, concluding that it was not their duty 
to lecture him, as well as deprive him of his tobacco. If he had 
been truthful, there would not have been a cigar lost to him ; but 
as it was, he justly lost all. I am aware that English custom- 
house officers are greatly condemned, but do not believe them 
always censurable. They are often sorely tried, and some persons 
practise great deception upon them, which makes them scrutinize 
closely ; but where a person acts towards them in a gentlemanly 
waj', he seldom finds them either exacting or very inquisitive. 

Liverpool, with a population of nearly half a million inhabit- 
ants, with a foreign commerce greater than that of any other city 
except London, and a mercantile marine varied and strange, seldom 
or ever receives from the traveller more than a cold remark about 
her extensive docks, or a slight mention of the enormous draught- 
horses which bear her name. Why this is so, is remarkable, and 
can only be accounted for from the fact that those who embark 
there for foreign ports have mostly visited cities richer in ancient 
monuments and historical associations, and being on the eve of a 
long and perilous voyage, occupy their minds with speculations on 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 43 

the future, instead of turning tlieir attention to the attractions 
around them ; while those who come from the American side of 
the Athmtic see a city overhung with an atmosphere of smoke, 
and take the earliest opportunity of getting away from it, and 
flying to the goal of their destination, London or Paris. 

Liverpool does not deserve such treatment from all, and to those 
who are fond of looking at the excitement and bustle of business, 
it has many attractions. Let the stranger take the arm of his 
companion, and slowly stroll along the streets adjacent to the docks, 
occasionally entering one, and he will find sufficient to amuse him 
for days. There he will see the representatives of almost every 
nation on earth, and a greater variety of the genus homo than in 
any other city, not excepting New Orleans. Throngs of Irish 
immigrants, on their way to the land of their brightest hopes, 
America, meet him at every turn ; while Germans and French, 
Hollanders and Swedes, Spaniards and Italians, Jews and Gentiles 
cross him in his rambles and jostle him in the highways. Among 
the natives of the Isle of Great Britain he finds innumerable 
and nameless representatives from the Highlander, with liis half 
savage dress, to the Welshman and Yorkshireman, with their 
broad and peculiar dialect. He sees hundreds of poor, bare- 
footed women, and thousands of well-clad merchants. Soldiers 
and sailors, policemen and beggars, strangers and sharpers, pass 
and repass him as he roams her avenues. All is excitement, 
hurry, and confusion. A smoky atmosphere and the heavy 
clouds which hang over the city give a dingy aspect to the walls 
and houses, but a day or two will make him more familiar with 
the place, and then he will see much to admire and much to con- 
demn. The docks are the first objects of interest, and the stranger 
will cheerfully award them their due. One of them is a picture of 
all, and there can be seen the productions of every section of the 
world known to commercial men since " the Celt knew the Indian.^' 
The American notices with pride (and a commendable pride it is), 
foremost among all, the products of his native land. Countless 
bales of the great staple of the South, thousands of barrels of pork 
from the Valley of the Mississippi, hills of Indian corn in sacks 
from every portion of the Union, large quantities of sugar and 



44 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

molasses, and cargoes of American timber, bear witness to the 
extensive trade carried on between Liverpool and the Republic of 
the Western World ; while vessels from Egypt and Turkey, Arabia 
and China, the Brazils and Hindostan, lie side by side in her docks, 
giving evidence of the peaceful tendencies of commerce. Large 
numbers of American liners, those beautiful productions of the 
skill of our ship-builders, find a haven in the secure and sub- 
stantial basins for which she stands pre-eminent. Small craft in 
abundance are there; and strongly built iron steamers, in fleets, 
ply from her quays to the seaports of the neighboring islands, 
the Mediterranean, and the far shores of the Atlantic. Every 
hour during the day there is an arrival from some foreign country, 
and not a day goes down without witnessing a score of departures 
for distant sections of the world. From her docks the blood-red 
flag of haughty Albion has been borne to every section of the 
navigable globe, and she has sent out commercial fleets which 
would put to the blush the proudest navies of the continental 
powers. And yet for all this the stranger finds nothing in Liver- 
pool worthy his time and attention ! 

The streets are mostly irregular, short, and, like John Bull in 
many things, awry. But some of them are handsome. Take for 
instance Lord Street, with its imposing buildings, its rows of 
shops, and its broad and well-paved way; Dale Street, Church 
Street, and Castle Street, all abound in large and beautiful edi- 
fices. The exchange, "where merchants most do congregate,'^ is 
an attractive pile; and there is one of the best bronze allegorical 
groups that meets the eye of the artist in any section of the 
globe. It is erected to the memory of Lord Nelson. The Cus- 
tom House and Sailor's Home are beautiful architectural eff'orts, 
and would be considered lions in an American city. St. George's 
Hall is one of the largest and most harmonious buildings in its 
proportions in the kingdom. The railway stations are splendid, 
and stand in broad contrast with the passenger depots of the rail- 
roads in the United States. The hotels, although not so large or 
so fine as the American, are good, and some of them are not de- 
void of external beauty. 

The inhabitants are divided into two classes, rich and poor. 



OR; WANDEPvINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 45 

The rich are generally pompous, self-sufficient, proud, and over- 
hearing to those they regard as inferiors, and courteous and aifable 
to their equals. The poor are a servile, crouching race to their 
employers, or masters, as they are called, and most ardently at- 
tached to the queen. Many of them are ignorant and degraded, 
and live but little better than paupers. There is almost as much 
licentiousness among a portion of the female poor as the stranger 
observes at Cork ; and to an American, such exhibitions as are 
witnessed in Liverpool are revolting. The laborers and mechanics 
of the city are numerous, and are generally dressed in a coarse, 
white cotton cloth, which, in a climate so cold, looks uncomfort- 
able. There is but little intelligence among them, and although 
the trade and communication between the United States and 
Liverpool is so extensive, the majority of the working classes 
have no correct geographical ideas of our country, and speak of 
New York as the whole of America. 

The most remarkable feature of Liverpool is the fact that there 
is not a single daily newspaper published in the city. With a 
population of nearly five hundred thousand, and a commerce so 
great as to reach every section of the world, this place cannot 
boast one daili/ paper ! while San Francisco, a city of but four 
years' growth, issues seven. The London Times, during the 
great Exhibition, sneered at the sorry appearance of the penny 
dailies then in the " glass palace ;" but the writer forgot the vast 
power wielded by those little sheets in the United States — a 
power which may some day be felt in England. 

The enormous dray-horses of the city are great curiosities to 
the American traveller, both as regards size and their wonderful 
powers. I have seen them full seven feet and a half high, and 
some even higher than that. Many of them are twice as large as a 
draught-horse with us, and they look like young elephants when 
moving along the street. The wagons to which they are attached 
are great clumsy platforms, supported by four ponderous wheels, 
the whole sufficiently heavy for two of our horses without the ad- 
dition of a load ; and, incredible as it may appear, it is not an 
unusual thing to see two of these animals drawing such a machine, 
with as many as thirty bales of cotton piled upon it. Their 



46 

movements are slow ; and it is more than likely that two of our 
small horses would do quite as much work in a day, drawing 
lighter loads, as two of the Liverpool horses perform, and at a 
much less cost. 

In contrast to the dray-horse stands the donkey — a numerous 
class in Liverpool. Many of them are not larger than a setter- 
dog, and you will see one drawing a cart three times as large as 
himself, with a great lubberly clown in addition to the ordinary 
load. They are the only draught animals not taxed, and on that 
account are used mostly by the poor ; in many instances being 
the sole support of an entire family. They are a miserable set of 
brutes, and the masters often look more brutal and inhuman than 
the donkeys. 

There are many other things worthy of note in and about 
Liverpool, not the least striking of which are the windmills in the 
vicinity. The broad arms of these strange edifices are whirled 
around by the passing breeze, and as they cut and slash the air, 
bring to the traveller's mind the gallant exploits of Don Quixote 
and his doughty squire. 

But enough of the great seaport of Lancashire ! I leave its 
mud and filth, tall, ungainly warehouses, and motley throng, to 
be described by others, and turn once more to our ill-fated ship. 
I went down to her before leaving the town, and how changed ! 
The cargo had been discharged, the passengers were all gone, and 
the cabin, so lately the abode of a cheerful and social company of 
warm-hearted friends, was silent and deserted. Those who had 
crossed the great deep in that splendid saloon had separated, each 
to his destination, and probably never to meet again. But friend- 
ships were formed there bright and holy ; friendships that will be 
cherished until the last hour of existence ; and tliouoh fate estrange 
the wanderers, time cannot efiace from memory the pleasures en- 
joyed in each other's company, or the feelings of happiness which 
the recollections of the voyage recall to mind. 

Occasionally, since then, I have met with one of my fellow- 
voyagers, and such meetings have always been seasons of un- 
feigned happiness. The old ship is generally a subject of inquiry, 
and, as her fate may interest the reader, I give it here. On her 



47 

return-voyage she ran down a brig, and sunk her — put into New 
York for repairs — sailed from thence to Chagres, where she caught 
fire, and was burned to the water's edge, and sank to rise no 
more. She was what the sailors call " an unlucky craft," and 
her end was in character with her performances from the first — 
unfortunate ! 



C II AFTER ly. 

MANCHESTER AND ITS VICINITY. 

Tired of Liverpool, and anxious for a change of scenery, I left 
the dingy seaport '' by rail," and, after passing through the dark 
and gloomy tunnel which extends from Lime Street Station to 
Edgehili, emerged into the light of a perfect day and a clear 
atmosphere, beyond the limits of the famous town. It was de- 
lightful to behold once more the green fields and bright sky, and 
my eyes, for the first time, took in the glories of an English land- 
scape. Yes ! there it was, before me, the rural charm of our 
fatherland. But a single glance was allowed ; the train did not 
stop long at any one station, and I was obliged to be content with 
a gleam of the sweet prospect. Hedgerows lined the fields ; tall 
oaks reared their majestic forms to the skies; white cottages 
peeped out from ivy and clustered leaves ; and the landscape 
looked a very garden. The tall spires of the village churches, 
and the large mansions of the wealthy, came rapidly in sight, 
and then passed by, leaving upon my mind their impress, clear 
and ineffaceable, for they were types of Old England^ and spoke 
of the ancient day, and I gloried in beholding them. The train 
whirled us on, on, past hamlet and town, through tunnel and 
farm, over viaduct and moor ) but nearly the whole distance was 
pleasant to the view. The ground, at the sides of the rail, 
was under cultivation from the hedges and walls down to the very 
track J and at the stations there were garden-patches, in which 



48 THE FOOTPATH AND highway; 

/ 

roses and other favorite flowers grew luxuriantly, and distilled 
upon the air their sweetness. And this, thought I, is England ; 
and this velvet-grass, and these broad fields, and those neat cot- 
tages and magnificent parks, are the charms which draw the Ame- 
rican across the angry waters, that he may feast his eyes on thera 
and grow familiar with the beauty of his ancestral land ! But 
my poetic reverie was doomed to end. Rain began to fall fast as 
we approached the great cotton manufactory of the realm, and I 
entered Manchester in a drenching shower. The landscape which 
so recently claimed my admiration was gone, and I stood alone in 
one of the filthiest places I had ever placed foot into up to that 
time. Smoke and clouds hung over the town, and through the 
veil of darkness which they created I could trace indistinctly the 
tall chimneys and towering forms of countless cotton factories. A 
small stream, black as ink, flowed near the station where I stood, 
and the earth around me appeared as black as the waters of the 
rill. ^'The dark and the light side of the picture!" mused I; 
" we cannot expect sunshine and flowers always, and this black 
scene is put before me as a contrast with what I have just 
been enjoying so much. Hope and despair ! the country and the 
town ! The pure air of heaven and the polluted air of a manu- 
facturing city ! Let me see ; I'll cross that Styx, and look into 
Hades r 

My luggage was carefully packed away in the " office for left 
parcels" — a very great convenience, too, is that office to travellers, 
if they happen to know of its existence ! — and then I bade adieu 
to my companion of the trip, a gentleman from Savannah, 
whose acquaintance I made in Liverpool, and plunged, literally 
plunged, into Manchester. Down into the valley of the foul 
stream, across its" gloomy waters, through a narrow passage be- 
tween two massive mills, and out into an old, odd-looking street, 
with houses on either side, whose upper story hung over the 
footwalks like heavy brows over the eyes of a guilty man. They 
were gloomy buildings, and appeared to frown people away, to 
prevent the curious making examination of the heart within. 
I passed them rapidly, gazing on this side and then on that, at 



OR; AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 49 

things strange and quaint, and soon gained a finer thoroughfare, 
where I was cordially greeted, in true Yankee tone, with 

" How are you now, and what brought you here ? When did 
you leave home?" and a host of similar questions, to all of which 
I made reply, and then we joined company and rambled on to my 
companion's hotel, in which I took up my temporary abode while 
in Manchester. 

It was a pleasure to meet an old friend so many thousand miles 
from home, and that so unexpectedly to each, and we enjoyed the 
blessing as long as time would allow, and then parted as suddenly 
as we met. 

A week's residence afforded me opportunity to visit the most 
remarkable localities, and become acquainted, to a certain extent, 
with the habits and modes of life of the w^orking population of 
the town. My entrance into Manchester was in a shower, and 
my final departure was in rain. During four of six days, while I 
remained there, the rain fell almost constantly, and I was informed 
that it is not an uncommon circumstance to have wet weather 
five out of seven days. 

It has been satisfactorily ascertained by scientific observation 
that one-fifth more rain falls at Manchester during a twelvemonth 
than in any other part of England. This may be a blessing 
rather than a misfortune, as the supply of water for the immense 
manufactories is thus kept up, and thousands of poor furnished 
with employment. 

It was Whitsuntide, the manufacturers' holiday (or week), at the 
time of this visit. The greater part of the factories were stopped, 
the populace enjoying themselves, each according to the bent 
of his mind, or the depth and fulness of his purse. Thousands 
had gone to the " Great Exhibition" and Paris, while great num- 
bers w^ere on trips to Ireland or Scotland, or some other equally 
attractive part of the kingdom, then so easily reached by cheap 
excursions. The working people, however, generally remained at 
home for want of funds to go abroad; and as they are the ma- 
jority, Manchester was not entirely deserted. 

The town of Manchester is of great antiquity, its history being 
clearly traced to the times of the Roman power in Britain ; but 
5 



50 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

its rise to importance is owing to its extensive manufactories of 
cotton, mainly erected within the last sixty years. According to 
a published statement, there were, in 1848, about 1200 cotton- 
mills in the district of which Manchester is the chief town, em- 
ploying 35,000 horse power and 200,000 persons. At the present 
time it is next to impossible for a person to obtain the correct 
number of factories in either the city proper or the adjacent 
districts. I made exertions to gain reliable information, but 
failed in every instance; not, however, from an unwillingness to 
impart the information on the part of those to whom I applied, 
but because no one knew. The ignorance of the people cm the 
commonest aifairs is surprising. It is characteristic not only of the 
poor, but of those who ought to be well informed. You ask the 
plainest question, to which a boy in the United States would make 
a ready reply, and there is a positive certainty that the answer 
will be, "I don't know." 

The large cotton factories were objects of particular interest, 
and, through the kindness and influence of some friends resident 
in Manchester, I was shown through several from the ground floor 
to the topmost story. The machinery was mostly old, and by no 
means so well finished as that made in the United States. The 
new that came under my notice was not much of an improvement 
upon the old, although cleaner and better in appearance. The 
process of manufacturing cotton into fine numbers is difi'erent from 
the S3'stem followed in America, but mainly in the number of 
times the cotton is doubled in the machinery and the number of 
frames it passes through. The rooms, from the carding-room up, 
are heated to about 70 degrees temperature, which is constant, 
and must be injurious to the persons employed. The raw mate- 
rial is first run through a machine known as the ''devil," after 
which it goes through the spreader. It next passes through four 
difi'erent sets of carJs, about eighteen inches in width, with small 
cylinders, and no workers or strippers, but the old-fashioned flats. 
After going through the cards, it is doubled again four times and 
run through the same number of drawing- frames, doubling at each 
one. The frames have four heads, and are similar to those used 
in the United States. From the drawing-frames it is taken to 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 51 

what are called jack-frames, where it is again doubled four times 
and run through but one machine, after which it is spun into cops 
on a mule; from whence the yarn is taken to a doubling-frame, 
doubled twice, passing (in its course through the frame) through 
water, and, in some cases, through a blaze of gas-light. The next 
process is to reel it into hanks, after which it is sent to Notting- 
ham and woven into lace. 

The mules are the same as those in use twenty years ago, the 
only difference being the wheel-head in the centre, and the num- 
ber of spindles ; some of them containing as many as six hundred 
and forty. The doubling-frames resemble the Danforth frames in 
some respects, and are an improvement on the old throstle. They 
serve the purpose of speeders, but do not twist the thread so hard 
as the Danforth frame. They are generally large, and contain as 
many as five hundred spindles, which are run at a great velocity, 
frequently making four thousand revolutions per minute. 

In the weaving departments which I visited, men were princi- 
pally employed, although this is not universally so. Women are 
engaged in a great many of the factories as weavers in Manchester, 
and in the United States it is their exclusive province about a 
factory where there are looms. That which attracted my attention 
most was the rapid movement of the shuttle, which makes as many 
as 130 picks in a minute on coarse fabrics, and as high as 200 on 
finer goods. The wages of those engaged in the factories are low. 
Men employed at weaving on power-looms earn from 9 to 18 
shillings per week, or from $2.10 to $1.32, but the average is not 
more than 12 shillings, or $2.90, out of which many of them support 
families. One pound, or about $4.80 of our currency, per week, 
is considered very good pay for a man engaged in mule-spinning 
or carding. The different branches of mechanical labor do not 
yield more than that sum per week the year round, with constant 
work. There are some cases where men in higher positions re- 
ceive as high as from $7 to $10 weekly, but those instances are 
rare. 

The working people of the town live in small two-story houses, 
generally located near the factories. The domiciles I visited did not 
present an attractive appearance, either outside or inside. The 



52 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

lower floors are of stone, that material being cheaper than wood. 
The usual furniture of the houses of the mechanics is a bureau, a 
table or two, a few chairs, and sometimes a carpet, and one or 
more pictures, on the first floor. The bedrooms are without car- 
pets, but, in other respects, pretty well provided. But few of the 
houses have more than three rooms, one down and two up stairs. 
The rents are low, compared with the prices paid in cities in the 
United States for buildings on streets; the sum varying from two 
shillings and sixpence to five shillings per week, to which must 
be added "rates and taxes,*' claims the tenants are always obliged 
to pay, and which generally add considerably to the original 
amount. 

The condition of the mechanics and laborers in and around 
Manchester is fiir from enviable. Their wages are low, and in 
many instances scarcely sufiicient to obtain the necessaries of life, 
and never enough to allow them to indulge in luxuries, without 
causing privation and want. The greater part of the generation 
just arrived at maturity are iudifi'erently educated, numbers of 
them being unable to read and write. Their leisure hours are 
passed at ale-houses, and it is not an unusual thing to see women 
and men sitting together in those places around a table, sipping 
gin. Great reformations have been effected among the persons 
engagad in the mills by the active exertions of the members of 
the different temperance societies, but they have not as yet suc- 
ceeded in inducing women to shun the gin-palaces. In the United 
States, where woman is looked up to as a gentle and sinless being, 
too pure for crime, such assemblages are never seen, nor can an 
American imagine how they can exist; but in England, where 
women are held in less estimation than with us, such exhibitions 
as above described are frequent and common, and but few think 
it either wrong or disgraceful. 

Many women are employed in the factories, and those who have 
small children, and are compelled to work in the mills, generally 
leave their infants in institutions which abound in Manchester, 
where they are kept, during the time the mothers are employed, 
for a small sura per day. 

There are several Mechanics' Institutes in the town, places 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 53 

•where lectures are delivered to the working classes on popular 
subjects, and to which libraries are attached for the benefit of 
mechanics and their families. But these places are not accessible 
to all, and numbers of those who are able to read, but who cannot 
or will not attend such institutions, ponder over works of fiction 
of a doubtful and immoral tendency, now published in London in 
large quantities, in pamphlets of six or eight pages, and sold 
extensively throughout the provinces, at one penny per number. 
Newspapers are few and expensive ; consequently, the poor, both 
from inclination and want of funds, take no papers, and read the 
penny publications, because they are cheap and entertaining. 

Since the passage of a law by Parliament, imposing a fine upon 
masters for employing children under thirteen years of age, but 
few young persons are seen about the factories, and such as are 
met with bear both a healthy and contented appearance. The 
rising generation is better educated than the preceding one, and 
there is a fair prospect that great permanent good will result from 
the law. 

A stranger in England sees many things which attract his 
attention for a time, but which, as they come before him con- 
stantly, are soon forgotten, or passed without notice. On first 
landing, he is struck with the ruddy complexion of the inhabit- 
ants, and the general beauty of the women. A pale and delicate 
female is seldom seen; but why is not so plain, since so much is 
said about the seamstresses and needle-women of England. Per- 
haps they are kept so close at work that they never get abroad, 
and therefore are rarely met. The factory girls of Manchester 
do not look so well as the same class in America, so far as regards 
dress and cleanliness, but their cheeks wear a ruddier glow, and 
their general appearance is healthful. One other curiosity, if it 
may so be called, are clogs, or shoes with wooden soles. These 
are the clumsiest things imaginable, and the best things to cripple 
feet ever worn. In Manchester, they are used quite extensively, 
and it is common to see little children running over the pavement 
with the heavy things attached to their feet, and making a clat- 
tering noise. The soles are always a half inch thick, and in many 
cases much more than that. Large heavy boots are worn by the 

5* 



54 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ' 

men, which are full of great hob-nails, with heads a quarter of 
an inch in width. The clatter they make is outrageous when 
several clowns are hurrying over the pavements, and reminds one 
of a drove of oxen crossing a bridge. 

Black smoke in clouds constantly hovers over Manchester, at 
tioies completely confining the view to a few hundred yards like 
a thick fog. The air is filled with flying particles of coal from the 
chimneys of the manufactories, and the stranger finds his linen, 
after a day's wear, as black as it would be should he wear it a 
week in any town in the United States — Pittsburg excepted. The 
large streets are lined with fine stores, and there are several public 
buildings worthy of notice. In the suburbs there are numbers 
of beautiful vilhis, the residences of merchants and manufacturers 
of the city, many of them looking like fairy palaces, particularly 
those on London Road, Plymouth Grove, and Balmoral and Roth- 
say Places. Here the air is pure, the sky clear, and all is so calm 
that, if the stranger did not really know it; he would not believe 
he was in Manchester. 

In company with two young men belonging to the cotton-mill 
of England, I took a walk through the adjacent county of Ches- 
ter. As soon as we got clear of the city, out into the green 
lanes, with their luxuriant hedges, where we could breathe the 
unpolluted air, our senses were regaled with the breath of flowers, 
and cheered with the song of the lark. On our journey we 
strolled through the old town of Stockport, which lies directly in 
a valley, and on the sides of hills along the banks of the Mersey, 
here an inconsiderable ditch, and as black as tar. The smoke is 
abominable, and Stockport has the reputation of being both the 
filthiest and the most moral place of its size in England. The 
streets are steep and crooked, the dwellings old and forbidding, 
and the cotton-mills the largest in the kingdom. We left the 
town, and turning into a pleasant lane, strolled leisurely along the 
river for several miles, visiting in our rambles some beautiful little 
villages. The Mersey is lined with embankments on both sides, 
so as to prevent it from overflowing the meadows, and, in conse- 
quence of recent rains, was high then and very rapid. It is some 



- OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 55 

jBfty yards in -width, and winds tlirougli a most beautiful country 
and landscape of rich fields and broad meadows, 

" Lovely iu England's fadeless green." 

^Ye stopped at a cottage in the village of Didsbury at noon, 
where we were hospitably entertained by a really beautiful girl of 
eighteen summers or more. She spoke the dialect of the country, 
but, objectionable as it may be when uttered by clowns, it is 
musical when articulated by a pair of pouting lips, in tones of 
welcome to a stranger. She was intelligent and vivacious, cheer- 
ful and entertaining ; and when she learned where I was from, 
she was all life and joy. 

'^Ay! I have a brother there, and I woujd so like to see him. 
It's six years since he left us, and I was but a lass then; but I 
remember him well, and would go miles to meet him once more. 
Poor Jack! You probably know him V 

She stood before me as she uttered the interrogation, and the 
dews of aiFection moistened her blue eye as she gazed anxiously 
into my face, awaiting my answer. She looked as sisters only 
look when inquiring for a long absent and favorite brother of one 
who may have seen him; and when I informed her that it was not 
my pleasure to know her kinsman, she smiled through her tears, 
and said, " Even if you do not know him, you come from the town 
in which he lives, and that is a consolation that I am happy in. 
He will not come home, I fear, and I would go to America to see 
him, if it were not for the ocean ; but that would not be still for 
Canute, and I know it will not be calm for one like me. So I 
must be content with my lot, and only think of Jack.'^ 

She insisted that we must remain and dine, and set to work pre- 
paring a meal. It was nearly ready, we must stay ; the weather 
was warm, we required rest and refreshment; and, more than all, 
an elder brother would soon be at home, and I must see him for 
her sake and Jack's. I could not resist the entreaty, and re- 
mained. The time passed pleasantly, the fare was excellent, and 
the company sociable and hospitable. But the time for departure 
arrived, and I bade my entertainers adieu, not, however, withou|; 



56 THE FOOTPATH AND IIIGIIWAY; 

promising to seek the wanderer, wlieu I returned to his home and 
mine. 

We passed through the old vilhige, with its straw-roofed cottages 
and cheerful street, and diverged from the regular road into a 
footpath along the Merse}^, here a clear arrowy stream, winding 
through a rich agricultural district, a walk along its banks being 
both pleasant and healthful. 

We had frequent opportunities of visiting the farms along the 
river, and enjoying the rich scenery of the vale of the Mersey. 
The air was clear and unpolluted, and the song of the skylark 
added a charm to the rural attractions around. The meadows 
looked as though they were covered with a carpet of velvet, 
spangled over with buttercups and daisies, and as the freshening 
breeze swept over the luxuriant fields, the grass and flowers gayly 
bent their heads to the summer winds. The hawthorn hedges 
gave out their incense, while countless flowers filled the air with 
their odors, forming an atmosphere in strong contrast to that of 
the slavish manufacturing towns in the distance. The day was 
passed without alloy ; and, as I returned to Manchester, the long 
English twilight faintly struggled through the thick veil of smoke 
which overhangs the city. The transition from the pure air of 
the country to the thick atmosphere of the town caused me to sigh 
for the bright sky, the green fields, and healthful air, and, being 
tired of Manchester, I bade it an early adieu. 



CHAPTER V. 

SHEFFIELD — WIIARNCLIFFE WOOD — CIIATSWORTH. 

It is pleasant sometimes to look at the falling rain when secure- 
in comfortable quarters, but not agreeable to be in it. I have 
already said that Manchester was in a shower when I entered, and 
i^e clouds were pouring their contents over it at my departure. 
It was my original intention to walk from the great manufacturing 



57 

town to Sheffield, but in consequence of continued heavy rains, I 
abandoned the design and performed tlie journey by rail. My 
travelling companions were not sociable, nor did I cultivate their 
acquaintance to any great extent, although we conversed freely at 
times. 

The country through which the road passes is broken, and not 
very highly cultivated. There are many splendid scenes on the 
route, and several large forests, one of them the most extensive in 
England. It is the scene in part of many of the finest portions 
of Ivanhoe, and classic ground to the reader of Scott's fascinating 
tales. ^ 

At a place called Woodhead, the road passes through a tunnel 
nearly three miles long, one end of which is in Cheshire, the other 
in Yorkshire. It is cut under a bleak hilly moor, covered with 
dark heath and bogs, and was six years in course of construction. 
The entire work is walled and arched with excellent masonry, and 
presents a different appearance from similar engineering efforts in 
the United States. 

We were whirled along the iron way at a rapid rate, now on 
the edge of a splendid valley, now through a deep cut, and the 
next moment into the heart of a waste moorland. On — on crashed 
the iron courser, with terrible speed, leaving 

" Trees behind trees, row by row, 
And clift by clift." 

The rain beat furiously down, the engine battled it bravely, and 
after two hours' strife entered the station at the city of cutler}^, 
panting and impatient for another encounter with the elements. 

Sheffield is constantly under a cloud of smoke rising from its 
numerous manufactories, and, as it is situated on a hill w^ith an 
amphitheatre of hills surrounding it, it looks like the crater of a 
burning mountain. The streets are crooked and steep; the houses 
in the business part old and dingy; and for the first few days, 
the stranger, who confines himself to the trading portion of the 
town, is disposed to regard it in anything but a favorable light. 
An occasional walk into the neighboring country of a fine day, 
and a visit to the suburban part of the city, will dissipate much 



58 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

of the first, impression, and lead the visitor to a knowledge of the 
beautiful as well as the uninviting features of the town. 

The working population is among the worst clothed and the 
most cheerless of the English workmen. A large number of the 
mechanics are employed in the cutlery establishments, and as 
wages are low and provisions generally high, it is not difficult 
to attribute the condition of the people to the right cause. In 
other towns, the women are fresh and rosy in appearance, while 
in Sheffield they are pale and sickly. Drunkenness is common, 
and " Spirit Vaults" (a name for rum-shops) are more nume- 
rous than in any other provincial town of the same number of in- 
habitants. The wages of the men seldom exceed a sovereign per 
week, and often fall much below that sum. Those ^vho labor in 
the coal-pits are exposed to danger and work hard, and yet their 
earnings are trifling. Boys are employed in these places from 
the tender age of ten years up, and receive but a paltry pittance 
for their labor. The workmen, in all the concerns where motive 
power is required, are obliged to pay out of their earnings a cer- 
tain sum per week for the use of the same ; and if a man spoils 
or slightly injures an article while it is in his hands, he is ob- 
liged to pay for it. In consequence of this rule, many things are 
thrown upon the mechanic's hands, which are so triflingly soiled 
as to defy the closest scrutiny of any but a thorough master of his 
business. When this fact is known, it is not a matter of sur- 
prise that the English manufacturers turn out good work. All 
the bad is left to the mechanic, who is compelled to lose his 
labor and pay for the material. Here there are the broadest 
distinctions between master and man, and it is a customary thing 
to hear an employer call his working people his servants. 

On a Saturday evening, the markets of the town are densely 
thronged with people, and there a person can see the working 
classes to the best advantage. They crowd the space to such an 
extent as to make pedestriauisra almost impossible, and fill it till 
midnight. That may be designated as their time of rest, and 
then they breathe the air of freedom. Men with their wives 
plod along in search of a joint for their Sunday dinner, and select 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 59 

such as their scanty means will allow, or retire to the ale-houses 
in the vicinity to indulge in the favorite beverage of the country. 
I know of but few scenes better calculated to amuse the American 
than a Saturday night market in Sheffield, for there he will see 
much of the olden time blended with the peculiarities of the new. 
The busy throng — the strange dialect, the quaint costume — all 
have attractions for him, and all command his attention. 

The extensive cutlery establishment of the Messrs. Rogers is 
located in Sheffield, and on presenting myself and announcing 
where I was from, every attention was shown me, and the curiosi- 
ties of their show-rooms opened for inspection. To the curious 
in such things, there were many wonderful articles, but I took 
very little interest in them. The best and most remarkable of 
their manufactures had been sent to the " Exhibition," where 
they attracted much attention. This firm deals in silver plate as 
well as cutlery, but they do not manufacture it. In fact they 
make but few of the articles in which they trade, excepting cut- 
lery, and not all of that. The small establishments of Sheffield 
are said to produce more of Rogers' articles than they do them- 
selves. 

The west end contains many very fine buildings, both public 
and private. On an eminence which overlooks the town and 
surrounding country, there is a row of fine dwellings, in one of 
which Montgomery, the poet, resides. He is a hale old man, 
on the verge of the grave, and, in the enjoyment of a government 
pension, is quietly wearing out the thread of existence in his fa- 
vorite Sheffield. He occasionally attends public meetings held 
for philanthropic objects, and gives both his time and money to 
aid and relieve the distresses of the poor. 

The Parish Church is an ancient edifice, having been built so 
early as the year 1110. It is a large Gothic structure, with a 
chancel, in which are erected several costly tombs and monu- 
ments. Here I saw, for the first time, marble figures reposing at 
full length on the tombs of the departed. There is one monu- 
ment to the fourth Earl of Shrewsbury and his two countesses, 
on which there are three figures the size of life, sculptured in 



60 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

marble. Each one lies as if stretched in death, with the hands 
and arms crossed upon the breast. A faint ''religious light'' 
rested upon these dusty effigies, and the ghostly forms looked, in 
the subdued rays that streamed through the old chancel window, 
like the bodies of the unburied dead, in the costume of the olden 
time. The objects around and before reminded me that I was in 
an ancient place, surrounded by the ashes of those whose power 
was great in feudal times. The garments of the figures were in 
the fashion of another age. Armor and implements of war used 
in bygone centuries were chiselled on the tombs, and the mottos 
of the houses to which the occupants belonged graced the scrolls. 
The days of knighthood and mailed cavaliers came back to my 
recollection, and imagination invested with life the marble images 
before me. 

Sternly they rest, those speechless representatives of the dead 
of other years ; and although there is an air of stiffness about 
them, it is in character with the times of " feudal sway," and 
causes the beholder to imagine himself in the presence of those 
whose actual lives have shed a romance over English history. 

A walk, of a fine da}^, through the lanes and by-paths of Old 
England, is a more pleasant treat, to the lover of the beautiful and 
elevating in rural life, than all the gratifications to be derived from 
pent-up cities. Two gentlemen of Sheffield and myself made a 
pedestrian excursion of about thirty miles through the surround- 
ing country, visiting, in our rambles, the estates of Howard, Earl 
of Effingham, and Earl Fitzwilliam, both of which lie within eight 
miles of the town, although in different directions. The walk 
through the fine park attached to Wentworth House, once the 
seat of the ThorougJi Strafford, Prime Minister under Charles the 
First, was delightful. The estate belongs to Earl Fitzwilliam, 
having descended to that nobleman from his ancestor above 
named, beheaded by Cromwell and his Parliament, on account of 
his tyranny and persecutions of those who did not choose to be of 
his way of thinking. The house, or more properly castle, is a 
noble edifice, with a front of more than six hundred feet, and 
beautiful in its proportions. The parks are rich in majestic old 
oaks, and herds of deer feed quietly on the verdant lawns and 



, OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 61 

green swards, which extend for acres before the mansion. Two 
large monuments are on the estate, one to the memory of Admiral 
Keppel, the other to the Marquis of Rockingham. The galleries 
of the house are adorned with a number of celebrated paintings 
and pieces of sculpture, and the whole domain looks more like 
the residence of a monarch than a peer. When we visited it, the 
family was not at home, and the house was under the control of 
the butler. There he lived like a lord, and apparently as happy. 

A splendid range of stables is attached to the mansion, which, 
externally, is as fine a building as many could desire for a resi- 
dence. The stalls for the horses were better built and cleaner 
than many of the cottages on the estate, and the horses better 
cared for than the peasantry. The structure is of stone, built in 
the form of a hollow square, with a court-yard, in which a gurgling 
fountain plays constantly. The stalls for the animals are ceiled 
and plastered, which is more than can be said for one-half the 
English cottages. 

We continued our walk to Wentworth and Greasboro, two vil- 
lages on the domain of Fitzwilliam, and returned to town through 
lanes and roads lined with hedgerows by way of the old town of 
Rotherham, once of far more importance than Sheffield, but now 
an inconsiderable place when compared with the city of cutlery. 
The parish church of Rotherham is a splendid rectangular Gothic 
edifice, built on the site of a Saxon structure, in the reign of the 
fourth Edward. It is a fine specimen of the architecture of old, 
and is the principal attraction to the stranger in the place. In 
the south transept is a monument to fifty young persons, princi- 
pally children, who were drowned in the river Don, at Masboro, 
at the launching of a vessel on the 5th of July, 1841. There 
are also several ancient tombs, adorned with marble figures, erected 
to commemorate the services of men long since forgotten. 

Our ramble was over the soil once trodden by Gedric the Saxon, 
and Gurth the Churl ; through woods once the retreat of outlaw 
and forester, but now the resort of the peaceable citizen and curious 
tourist. 

During the stroll we rested at road- side or village inns, and 
met at each of those at which we tarried a warm English yt -j '"'' 
6 



62 

come, sucli as Shenstone made the subject of one of his most 
celebrated poems. Thej were quiet little homes, and attractive to 
the stranger. At one of them, an old dame, with snowy cap and 
white apron, ushered us into a cheerful parlor, every feature of 
which bore evidence of her tidiness and excellent housekeeping. 
The floor was sanded, the fireplace decorated with boughs of green, 
and the walls hung round with pictures of rustic life and scenes 
from English history. She soon brought us tankards filled with 
foaming home-brewed ale, a loaf of coarse brown bread, and a 
supply of tart old cheese. I realized, to my satisfaction, that 
I was in an English inn. There was no mistake about it ; 
before me were the windows, with their diamond-shaped panes, 
the oaken floor, the leaden sashes, the broad deal-table, and, more 
than all, the homely, yet wholesome fare ! Good old Falstati"! 
thou wert right, and knew well what constituted real comfort. I, 
like thee, love 

'• To take mine ease in mine iuu," 

and, humble though it be, the wayside or village hostelrie is a very 
home to me ! 

Our journey fitted us for the enjoyment of the quiet of the 
hearthside, and we had a ^' feast of wit" and exchange of feeling 
at the house of one of our company. There were eyes there that 
"marked our coming, and looked brighter when we came,'^ and 
sweet was the welcome home. 

It was fitting that our day should close with a scene of domestic 
harmony such as I witnessed in that well-trained English family, 
and such pleasures as delighted us there. 

We were not many, and the very fact that there were but few of 
us made our time pass agreeably. In the company was an old 
maiden lady who was passionately fond of Pomfret's poems. Her 
kinsmen were not well read in English poetry, and knew nothing 
of her favorite author. She had, years before, accidentally met 
with a stray copy, and in her hours of loneliness made it her study. 
To her there was no poet like Pomfret, and no poem like " The 
Choice.'^ I was appealed to, by one of the gentlemen, as to 
whether the poet was ever heard of on our side of the Atlantic ; 



' OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 63 

and when I assured him that all men of literary taste there were 
acquainted with his works, and admired many of his productions, 
the maiden aunt exulted, and praised Americans for their judg- 
ment and appreciation of talent. 

'' But,^' said the gentleman, "she quotes Pomfret on all occa- 
sions, and thinks his book equal to every other, only excepting 
the Bible." 

" Why, that's strange I You know," said I, appealing to the 
lady, "that your author incorporated a stanza into ^The Choice' 
to the effect that a mistress would be preferred by him to a wife, 
and in consequence of that he was suspended from his clerical 
duties by the bishop of the diocese !" 

The whole family joined in merriment at this announcement, 
and the ancient maiden was confused. Her great favorite was 
unmasked, and that by one in whom she expected to find a fellow- 
admirer and champion ! 

" Yoxi must come all the way from America to revive the old 
slander against Pomfret, and give my kinsmen the mastery over 
me and him ! I am sorry I spoke of Pomfret to you, and will 
never hear the last of that charge. If you had not come, they 
would never have known that such was the case, and I would 
have been permitted to admire my author and quote him without 
being subjected to ridicule. You have told the truth ; but Pomfret 
was not a bad man, after all that was said against him !" 

Her friends took delight in annoying her about her favorite 
author, and I was complimented on my knowledge of the English 
poets. The gentle spinster bore the jesting philosophically, and 
quoted Pomfret's lines perseveringly in her and his defence. She 
became excited a little at times ; but I came to her aid, and tried 
to cover up the fault I had committed. 

"No more from you," she said ; "you threw the apple of dis- 
cord, and now don't attempt to remedy the evil. You cannot 
undo the mischief.'^ 

The evening wore away imperceptibly, and the small hours of 
morning came dancing in before we retired to rest, and when we 
did go it was with reluctance and a quotation from — Pomfret. 

Before taking final leave of Sheffield, I made an excursion to 



64 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

Chatsworth^ in company with a young friend whose acquaintance 
I made through a letter of introduction from his brother in Ame- 
rica. The morning was cloud}-, and the wind high. Our road 
lay over the barren moors of Derbyshire, one of the most deso- 
late portions of England. For several miles there were but few 
houses, and the only objects worthy of note that met our gaze 
were occasional herds of mountain sheep, and Scotch cattle pas- 
turing on the scanty grass which grows upon the cultivated lands 
of those dreary hills. The moors extend for sixteen miles, and 
are, for the most part, covered with bracken, furze, and fragments 
of rocks. At a place called Owley Bar, there is an old inn, 
famous when stage-coaches were in their glory, but now a shadow 
of its former greatness. It stands on a high peak, and can be seen 
for miles as you approach it from any direction, presenting the 
appearance of a turreted castle. The moorlands around it belong 
mainly to the Duke of Rutland, and are game preserves. They 
abound in grouse and hares, and are a favorite resort of the owner 
in the hunting season. At one point of the desolate tract stands 
the house of the gamekeeper, which commands an extensive 
view of the surrounding country. The Argus eyes of the watch- 
ful guardian of his grace's game-lands seldom fails to discover the 
wily poachers, and that sentinel house is a thing dreaded by the 
filchers of stray hares and venturesome grouse. 

After a journey of a few hours, we reached Baslow, a pleasant 
village near Chatsworth, the princely estate of the Duke of Devon- 
shire. Our main object was to visit the famous ducal residence, 
and when rested from our fatigue we entered the domain. The 
estate was one of those given by William the Conqueror to Wil- 
liam Peverel, an attendant; but in the reign of Elizabeth it was 
purchased by Sir William Cavendish, who commenced a mansion- 
house on it, which was completed by his widow, the renowned 
Countess of Shrewsbury. The present building was erected by the 
first Duke of Devonshire, in 1 702. The park is about nine miles in 
circumference, beautifully diversified with hill and vale, and con- 
tains fallow and other deer to the number of seventeen hundred. 
Some idea of the magnificence of Chatsworth can be formed froin 
this statement, and tlie palace is in every particular in character 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 65 

with the grounds around. The park abounds in groves and avenues 
of noble oaks, splendid drives, and beautiful scenery. The river 
Derwent flows through it and immediately in front of the mansion, 
in the rear of which there is a long range of hills, the southern 
spur of the highlands of the Derbyshire moors, crowned with a thick 
growth of timber, and kept in a wild and rugged state. Several 
artificial cascades are formed over these ridges by conducting 
water to the summit through tunnels and pipes, and causing it to 
rush headlong down the hill-side over rocks and jagged projec- 
tions, so arranged as to create foam and spray. The principal 
stream, thus diverted, falls about one hundred feet, and is some 
twenty feet wide. It has the appearance from below of a shower 
of silver, and strongly resembles the Catskill Mountain cascade, 
when seen from a distance. Art has done wonders for Chats- 
worth; but nature, too, has there been lavish of her charms. 

There is a small castle in the park near the river, surrounded 
by a moat, in which, it is said, Mary, the unhappy Queen of Scots, 
was imprisoned for thirteen years. It is a circular stone building, 
and at this time the interior is filled with earth, and trees are 
growing in the centre. The walls are massive and strong, and at 
some points overhung with ivy. Age is traceable on every part, 
and whether it was or was not the prison-house of the queen 
whose romantic history is in every school-girrs recollection, it has 
evidently been at some period the dungeon of more than one 
captive. 

The rain fell fast during the day, marring our pleasure for 
a time, but not entirely. It was our intention to visit Had- 
don Hall, but the storm prevented, and we were obliged to be 
content with Chatsworth and its vicinity. Our host at Baslow 
was a friendly person, and after we had dined he and I entered 
into conversation upon various subjects, and among them the 
United States was one. He knew several persons who now reside 
in America — young men who went from Chatsworth. He saw 
them go, and stated that Mr. Paxton, the originator of the Crys- 
tal Palace, presented each v/ith sums varying from five to ten 
pounds at the time of their departure. 

Here, by accident, I was put into possession of a leof in the 



m 



66 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

history of this gentleman, interesting in many respects. He was 
a gardener in early life, and is a native of Berwickshire, Scot- 
land. The Duke of Devonshire, while on a visit to a market- 
town, where there were flowers for sale, was attracted by a par- 
ticular collection, which exhibited greater care and skill in 
their culture than any others. He inquired who raised them, 
and learned that it was the gardener who had them for sale. A 
proposition was at OUce made by the nobleman to the horticulturist, 
and, as it was advantageous, it was accepted. He went to Chats- 
worth, where he arrived about twenty-five years ago, with not 
more than six shillings in his pocket. Here he had every advan- 
tage of exercising his peculiar talent, and, as he was industrious, 
and attentive to his master's interests, he gradually arose to favor 
and power. He suggested alterations in the park, and they were 
made. He removed and transplanted oaks and elms; formed 
splendid and continuous alcoves and arbors, where before were 
straggling trees, and added greatly to the beauty and splendor of 
the estate. The confidence of the nobleman became unbounded, 
and he gave the servant full control over Chatsworth. He now 
employs and discharges — receives and expends, and has become so 
identified with the domain as to be known in the neighborhood 
as the "little duke." 

The peer calls him by the familiar term of " my friend," and 
he is a man respected and esteemed by all. He bears his honors 
modestly, and does not (like too many who have been elevated 
to distinction from nothing) forget his early companions and fellow- 
laborers. When he visits Chatsworth, he always has a word for 
his former associates, and all love him for it. It was at his 
suggestion that the splendid conservatory at Chatsworth Hall 
was built, and that minor palace of glass suggested the more 
magnificent one in Hyde Park. But there is another person 
deserving some praise in this design, and that is a Mr. Robin- 
son, an architect, who resides at Baslow. Mr. Paxton is not a 
draughtsman ; he can tell how he wants a thing done, and knows 
whether it is properly made, but he cannot put his ideas on paper 
or furnish a draught of the ihing he wishes built. Mr. Bobinson 
can. He is one of the most capable men in England. Paxton 



67 

knows and appreciates his talents and professional skilly and what 
Paxton suggests^ the other makes a draught of. Paxton originated 
the Glass Palace, but, had it not been for Mr. Robinson, the pro- 
babilities are that it never would have had a form, ^^ a local habi- 
tation, or a name.'^ The drawings were made at Baslow, by Mr. 
Robinson, for which Mr. Paxton gave him £100, or a sum nearly 
equal to $500 ; and it is asserted that neither he nor his wife 
drew a sober breath until the last penny of the one hundred pounds 
in question was gone. My informant was a man of veracity, had 
been a fellow-workman with Sir Joseph Paxton (this being now 
his title), and gave me his name as authority for the statement. 
He offered to introduce me to the architect, whose cottage was 
within full view from where I then stood. 

There is at Chatsworth a model village, called Edensor, built 
at the expense of the Duke of Devonshire, after the designs fur- 
nished by Mr. Paxton and his iwot&je. Every house is different, 
and for beauty and comfort the place stands unrivalled. The 
houses are in the various styles of rural and cottage architecture, 
now so popular in the United States, and each one is a neat con- 
venient villa. The old church in the village is one of the most 
romantic in England. It stands above the level of the street, and 
is surrounded by a natural colonnade of trees, so arranged as to 
look like the tall arches of a bridge. The branches have been 
trimmed smoothly off on two sides, and the summits are made 
quite flat and level. The remaining branches intertwine each 
other, and form one of the most beautiful ranges of arches in the 
world. The trunks of the trees look like tall columns, while the 
curves and foliage above form a range of emerald spans unsur- 
passed in elegance. In the chancel of the church are the tombs 
of the Cavendish family. There are' several marble figures 
stretched at full length on the tombs like so many ghostly dead \ 
and on one of the vaults there is a human skeleton, cut from the 
whitest marble, reminding the visitor forcibly of the folly of dis- 
tinctions in this life, and the certainty of death. The church is 
an ancient building, nearly covered with ivy, and stands like a 
heavy sentinel, watching over the expanse before it. 

We left Baslow late in the afternoon, and, as the stage was 



68 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGH^VAY ] 

gone, determined to walk to Sheffield, a distance of twelve miles. 
The road was wet and covered with a white mud formed by the 
rain and dust arising from the wear of the material used on the 
turnpikes in that part of the island. The storm subsided, and 
although the winds were keen and high, the walk was far from 
disagreeable. When we got cleverly out on to the moors, tho night 
set in, and a dull cloudy sky overhung the bleak and desolate 
hills. Occasional drops of rain fell from the flying vapors, and 
blackness covered the face of the land. As we wended our way 
over the dreary waste, each, as if by mutual consent, fell into a 
train of musings agreeable to himself. 

The sublime in nature always produces, in my mind, a chain of 
melancholy but pleasing reflections, and there, at night, under a 
gloomy sky, on the sterile moors of England, the same thoughts 
arose that pressed upon my soul on the boundless prairies of the 
west, and the restless waters of the ocean. 

We reached Sheffield at a late hour, tired and jaded with our 
long walk and the day's excursion. 



CHAPTER yi 



THE HOMES AND GRAVES OF BYRON AND i\IARY CHA WORTH — 
NOTTINGHAM HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 

Byron's grave, at Hucknall, and Newstead Abbey are objects 
of interest to me, and after a lengthened stay at Sheffield, I took 
an outside seat on the stage for Mansfield, from which place T pro- 
ceeded on foot. The road lay through a succession of scenery 
such as meets the eye only in England ; and which greets the 
traveller with little variation throughout the southern part of the 
island of Great Britain. The town of Chesterfield, on this route, 
is remarkable for the singular spire of the old church, which re- 
minds one of the leaning tower of Pisa. It is constructed of wood, 
and, although nearly straight, is built so as to appear, from any 
point of view, as if it were leaning at an angle of fifteen or twenty 



OR; WANDERIN(3S OF AN AMERICAN. 69 

degrees. Between this town and Blansfield, there are two cele- 
brated castles — one the old j^alace of Hardwick; the other the 
ancient baronial stronghold of Bolsover. In the centre of the 
main square of the last-named town, there is a fine Gothic monu- 
ment to the memory of Lord George Bentinck, a young Eng- 
lish nobleman who died a few years ago, at a time when he was 
rapidly rising to eminence as a statesman in the British Parlia- 
ment. 

Having strapped my knapsack on my back, I left Mansfield, 
and took the turnpike to Derby, the nearest way to Hucknall. 
The day was warm and pleasant, and my route lay over a moor, 
once a part of Sherwood Forest. The road for some distance was* 
very indifferent, and equally bad with any in the United States. 
For miles there were but few houses within sight; and wild 
shrubbery and yellow blossoming furze grew in abundance along 
the highway. The soil was sandy, and poorly cultivated where 
cultivation was attempted. I walked a distance of nine miles over 
lands once the haunts of Bobin Hood and his " merrie foresters 3'' 
and in' some places the wood was so thick that it did not require 
a very active imagination to people it with the descendants of 
the bold outlaw and his followers. Groves of fir and pines, inter- 
spersed with magnificent oaks, whose branches shadowed all the 
wild, formed a cool retreat and pleasant shade for the weary 
traveller. 

I sat down on the bank of a gurgling stream, bright and clear, 
which flowed from a clump of noble trees near by, and fell into a 
train of thought on the events in a man's history, and the realiza- 
tion of my boyish daydreams. I was on classic soil — in Sher- 
wood Forest — surrounded by giant forest-kings and English syl- 
van scenery. A herd of deer was grazing under the shade of the 
tall trees, and methought I saw the melancholy Jacques standing 
against the strong trunk of an old oak, soliloquizing on a wounded 
stag that had ^^ta'en a hurt" from the aim of some green-robed 
forester. The day was calm, the sky banked up with fleecy 
clouds, and the scenery such as a novelist would desire to paint — 
ultra-romantic. 

As I pursued my course along the road^ I passed an inn bearing 



70 THE FOOTPATH AND IIIGIIWAY; 

the name of England's outlawed forester, which a rustic assured 
me was the very house in which the bold outlaw was wont to hold 
riot when in his glory. The place had enough of the woodman's 
hut about it to make the beholder believe it to be what tradition 
represents it; but it wanted age. 

A mile or more southward of the wayside inn, I stopped at a 
toll-gate to inquire the nearest way to the village of Hucknall, 
and was directed through a park immediately before me. It was 
a broad and highly picturesque landscape, on whose verdant sur- 
face numbers of deer were feeding. Groves of giant oaks crowned 
the surrounding hills, and the soft summer winds were rich with 
the scent of new-mown hay. As I slowly wended my way along 
the paths, the scenery became familiar, and there was no difficulty 
in recognizing it from Byron's writings. There was the '^gentle 
hill" on which he was wont to meet with her who was the object 
of his warmest and holiest love, and where his youthful soul first 
felt how keen a sting was that of unrequited passion. It still 
was 

"Green and of mild declivity, the last, 
As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such, 
Save that there was no sea to lave its base 
But a most living landscape " 

but the ^^ trees of circular array" were gone, and the spot whereon 
the '^ youth and the maiden'^ once stood was no longer shaded 
by the broad branches of the oaks, from within whose shadow 
she watched — ■ 

" Looking afar, if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her expectancy and flew." 

The summer winds waved the grass upon the summit of the 
hill, and Annesley Park, the birthplace and patrimony of Mary 
Chaworth, looked as enchantingly on that day as if sorrow had 
never entered its borders. 

I turned towards Hucknall, a straggling hamlet, with but few 
cottages, and only famous as the burial-place of the Byrons. The 
scene before me was eminently English and beautiful. The vel- 
vety sward, the tower of the distant village shrine, the abodes of 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 71 

men, the Leavy wains, and the balmy air of June, made up a 
picture at once enchanting and sweet, aside from the associations 
connected with it. I enjoyed the time and place, and leisurely 
strolled on, within the shade of green hedges and bending trees, 
until I entered the village street. The church was the principal 
spot I cared to visit, and, after depositing my knapsack at the inn, 
and sending for the clerk, I entered the building. There was a 
company of English tourists already there, and their levity was 
unbecoming, to say the least of it. The poet never entertained a 
flattering opinion of his countrymen, and his dust would have 
crept, had he known that some of them were laughing and jest- 
ing over his grave. The interior of the church is in great dis- 
order, and, like the rest of the building, old and decayed. The 
vault wherein the poet lies buried is covered with two large slabs 
of rough stone clumsily fitted together, and the floor around, 
which is of the same material, is broken and irregular. A plain 
white marble tablet, bearing an inscription to the poet's memory, 
is fitted in the wall and surrounded by a black border. It is im- 
mediately over the vault ; and beneath it there is a coat of arms, 
cut in stone, with the motto, " Crede Byron ;'^ and this is the 
tomb of the author of " Childe Harold V He reposes among his 
ancestors, and near the last resting-place of her who bore him. 
Opposite to the poet's tomb is a stone bearing a long inscription 
to the services and worth of a Byron, who adhered to the cause 
of Charles the First in the days of that monarch's misfortune. 

The English company soon left the church, and after they were 
gone I stood for some time meditating on the changes and troubles 
in the life of him whose ashes were beneath my feet. A beautiful 
young girl of seventeen summers, with an ^' eye as blue as hea- 
ven," and a face expressive of sinless purity, was my guide. She 
was the daughter of the parish clerk, and during her father's ab- 
sence waited on strangers to the tomb. I recorded my name in 
a book she kept for visitors, and on looking over it noticed those 
of a great number of Americans. I asked her if she saw many of 
my countrymen, to which she replied in the affirmative. More of 
them visit Hucknall than of any other foreigners, and all of them 
take great interest in everything relating to Byron. " Has Lady 



72 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

Byron ever been here ?" I asked. "No/' said she, "not within 
my recollection ; but last summer Lady Lovelace was here, Byron's 
daughter. She came with Mrs. Wildman, the lady of the present 
occupant of Newstead Abbey. When she came in, she burst into 
a flood of tears, and wept long and audibly. It was an affecting 
scene, sir, and I could not help but weep with her. She stood 
some time leaning over the vault against the tablet, and sighed as 
though her very heart would break. Ay, sir, she loved her 
father; and could he have seen her, and known her affection for 
him, he would have been a better and a happier man. She never 
came but once to the grave, and then it was a difficult thing to 
get her away. I believe she grew ill in consequence of grief after 
that visit, and it was deemed prudent not to renew it." 

" Do you know whether either of the Musters family ever 
visited the place ?" 

" Yes, sir ; several of them have been here, and I have been 
told that Mary Chaworth came once, a few years before she died, 
and passed some time in the church. They who saw her speak 
of her as a pale sad lady, of great beauty; one who looked heart- 
broken and unhappy. She did not converse of Byron, nor even 
utter his name, but stood silently at his grave like a marble figure 
in which grief was forever frozen." 

The fascinating maiden was anxious to render all the informa- 
tion in her power, but cautious and truthful in her statements. 
She told me that many of the visitors act strangely when at the 
tomb, and some recite lines aloud from the works of the poet, 
while others are affected even to tears. 

I wanted a memento to take with me, some trifle from Byron's 
grave, but there was none. She was unhappy because she had 
nothing for me, and made search for a something that I might 
bear away. At last her bright blue eye flashed with delight, and, 
said she, " Here is a piece of oak from one of the pews ; it was 
taken off by the workmen when making repairs, and left behind. 
You can have it turned into a seal-handle if you wish." I ac- 
cepted the gift and thanked her for it, glad even of this token 
from Byron's grave. 

She told me that the person who had been clerk to the parish 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 73 

before her father's time so arranged one of the stone slabs as to 
remove it^ and was in the habit of showing people the coffin, bat 
on the news reaching the curate the man was discharged, and the 
stone securely cemented in its proper place. 

But few of the Byron family visit the poet's grave, and, with 
the exception of his sister and daughter, none remain more than 
a few minutes. Strangers, however, 

"Whose wandering feet have pressed 
The Switzer's snow, the Arab's sand, 
And trod the piled leaves of the West, 
My own green native land," 

have made it the Mecca of their pilgrimages, and gone thousands 
of miles to pay homage to the dust of him whose genius has shed 
undying lustre on English literature. 

The road from Hucknall to Newstead Abbey lies through a 
wood as wild as some of our American forests. It is arched with 
the branches and foliage of trees for more than a mile, and several 
limpid streams cross it, while frequent footpaths lead off at differ- 
ent points into the deep shade. At the end of the wood it runs 
over a gently sloping hill, from the top of which the turrets and 
Grothic ruins of the abbey burst upon the view. There is the lake 
and every feature of the landscape as described by Byron. The 
old chancel-window is intertwined with ivy, and the walls look as 
if they would brave time and its storms for a thousand years. 
The building stands in a quiet valley surrounded by hills, and 

" Lies perhaps a little low. 
Because those monks preferred a hill behind 
To shelter their devotion from the wind." 

The grounds are laid out tastefully, and there are several 
gardens bearing names according to the countries whence the 
flowers planted in them com.e. One is called the " American 
garden," and there grow luxuriantly our wild honeysuckle and 
rhododendron. The oak planted by Byron is shown as one of the 
curiosities of the place ; and in the " devil's wood," a deep, im- 
penetrable shade, there is a tree with two trunks, dear to the 
7 



74 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

poet and his sister, on which he cut the following inscription the 
evening before he left Newstead forever : — 



Lord Byron, ■)^5^^,^g^^_ 

Augusta, j -^ 



The bark has grown over the record ; and great difficulty is 
experienced in deciphering the date. x\ natural arbor, formed of 
the branches of oaks and overhanging ivy, is pointed to as the 
" Monks' "Walk ;" and a pure crystal spring, called the " Holy 
Well," claims the visitor's attention. 

In the body of the abbey, within the ruins, are several figures 
in stone, and a fountain gurgles through an old and quaint piece 
of sculpture. The poet has described the place in his matchless 
style, and no pen can surpasss the description left by him of the 
brave old pile. As I stood within its shade and listened to the 
falling waters, I realized in full his rich description : — 

<' Amidst the court a Gothic fountain pLayed, 
Sjannietrical, yet decked with carvings quaint, 
Strange faces, like to men in masquerade. 

And here perhaps a monster, there a saint. 
The spring gushed through grim mouths of granite made, 

And sparkled into basins, where it spent 
Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, 
Like man's vain glories and his vainer troubles." 

Boatswain's grave is always visited, but beyond the halo thrown 
over the tomb by the genius of Byron, there is nothing attractive 
about it. The celebrated epitaph is scarcely legible, and it was 
only by supplying from memory the obliterated portions that I 
was enabled to read the inscription. 

From that spot I also wished a memento, but was refused. The 
cheerful and intelligent lady's maid, who conducted me over and 
around the abbey and grounds, was sorry she could not comply 
with my request. She had the will to do it, but her orders were 
positive, and she could not violate them. I insisted : " Just a sprig 
from that fir-tree along-side the grave — it will not be missed ; and, 
as I have come a considerable distance, I am confident you will 
not refuse.'^ 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 75 

" You are an American ?" 

" Yes ! from Pennsylvania.^' 

'■'' Cut the branch, then j but it is only because you are an Ame- 
rican that you obtain the favor !" 

I thanked her, and felt proud of the compliment she paid me, 
as well as of the sprig from Boatswain's tomb ! 

After three hours spent in rambling about Newstead and the 
lands adjacent, I returned to Hucknall, whence I journeyed on to 
Nottingham, having walked about thirty miles during the day. 
A long, but pleasant ramble, and one of the most interesting I 
ever had. 

But few towns in England are more romantically situated than 
Nottingham, and I know of none in whose vicinity can be found 
finer scenery. The Trent is a clear, swift stream, of great beauty, 
along the shores of which are several splendid walks and groves. 
Long ranges of stately elms line the banks at a short distance 
from the town, and the citizens enjoy pleasant evening rambles 
in the summer twilights under the noble trees. Clifton Grove, 
on the river named, made famous by the muse of Henry Kirke 
White, and Wilford Churchyard, are the very spots for poetic 
reverie. The last-named village is one of surpassing beauty, and 
the true representative of an old English hamlet. Its every fea- 
ture is ancient, and speaks more of the days of Queen Bess than 
of Victoria. No wonder the youthful and pious White desired to 
lay his form to rest in its lovely, romantic burial-place, and pity 
it is that his wish was not gratified. 

I walked through the village with a companion, and visited the 
spot where the '' rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.'' The 
graves are swathed with osiers and decorated with rustic devices, 
rough tombstones, and rude sculpture. Tall elms spread their 
branches over the lowly hillocks, and a heavenly quiet reigns on 
the spot. We returned to Nottingham by a turnpike road, crossing 
the Trent on a bridge of nineteen arches, built centuries ago, and 
exhibiting a variety of architecture from frequent repairs. 

The town has a commanding front when seen from '•'' the wide 
vale of the Trent," and its tall church towers and ruined castle 
stand out in bold relief against the sky. When you enter, you 



76 

find the streets clean compared with those of other manufiicturing 
places, and the houses have about them an air of considerable 
antiquity. The market-place is a fine open space, built up on two 
sides with rows of shops, all of which have porticos in front, sup- 
ported by columns, forming a covered arcade, which extends the 
entire length of the space. In a small street leading from 
the square, and near the Exchange, stands the house in which 
Henry Kirke White was born. The ground floor is divided into 
three apartments, two of which are butchers' stalls, and the third 
a gin-palace. 

Below Nottingham, on the Trent, here a pretty and romantic 
stream, there is a large estate known as Colwick Hall. It is 
the property of the Musters family, and the burial-place of 
Mary Chaworth. During the reform riots in the town some 
years ago, at which time Nottingham Castle was burned, the 
mob set fire to Colwick Hall, but did not destroy it. Mrs. 
Musters was driven from the house, and took refuge in the 
wood on the estate. From the fright and exposure during the 
night, she contracted a fever which soon terminated her existence. 
She is buried in Colwick Church, an old ivy-clad edifice imme- 
diately adjacent to the hall, and her tomb is an object of fre- 
quent visit by tourists. She left four children, two of whom 
are living : one of them a daughter, now married — and the other 
a son, a clergyman of the Established Church. The eldest, who 
would have been heir to the joint estates of herself and husband, 
died a few years ago, leaving a son, who, by the death of his 
grandfather, is lord of the manors of Annesley and Colwick. 

The elder Musters was a great huntsman, and from all ac- 
counts very much of a brute. He was a tyrant to the poor, 
which explains the visit of the mob to his hall. It is currently 
reported in Nottingham that he frequently used personal violence 
towards his wife, and more than once beat her severely. He died 
about two years ago on his own estate, not much regretted, but a 
good deal despised, and now lies buried at the side of his wife in 
his family vault at Colwick Church. 

A lady of Nottingham, who was well acquainted with Mary Cha- 
worth, gave me some particulars in the life of that lady and of her 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 77 

husband worthy of note. She stated that Musters was one of the 
most finished libertines of his day, and had been guilty of crimes 
which would have consigned any other man, less fortunate, to 
the gallows. He was a man of fine appearance, and to that 
circumstance he owed his success in winning the heart of Mary 
Chaworth. He was a gambler, a horseracer, a spendthrift, and a 
bully, and has been known to outrage women frequently. No 
female escaped his eye, no matter to what family she belonged, 
and even young girls were the objects of his base passions. His 
wife was aware of his conduct, and lived a most wretched life in 
consequence of his treatment, and was scarcely ever known to 
smile. She was a heart-broken woman for years, and acknow- 
ledged that she suffered justly for her indifference to Byron. 
She no doubt loved the poet ardently, and never received com- 
pany after his death. 

When my informant was a little girl, Mary Chaworth would 
send for her when in Nottingham, and never left the town with- 
out seeing her. The calm face of the lady was impressed upon 
the memory of the child, and to this day she has a distinct re- 
collection of its sweetness and sad expression. 

^'Was she really handsome?" I asked, being under the im- 
pression that the '^poet might have seen Helen's beauty in a 
brow of Egypt," and given to a person of moderate personal at- 
tractions the color of his wishes and romantic dreams. 

" I have seen,'' said she, '^ many lovely and admired females — 
females whose beauty has been the subject of fame, but none of 
them surpassed or even equalled Mary Chaworth. She was one 
of the loveliest of women, but at the same time one, of the most 
unhappy. '^ 

Musters was always in debt, and his estate was pawned for 
years for the payment of his gaming obligations, which amounted 
in several different years to £40,000 or $200,000 per annum. 
He was in the habit of quarrelling with the peasantry, and when 
he met with poachers on his land he would beat them unmerci- 
fully. On one occasion he fell in with one, and made a ring for 
a fight. The poacher entered, and as he was a scientific boxer he 

7- 



78 THE FOOTPATH AND niGHWAY ; 

flogged Musters to bis heart's content. The buUj thanked the 
peasant for his dressing — swore he was a gentleman — took him 
to his hall — ^-eated him, and became his firm friend. 

Colwiek Church is the very place of burial for a poet's love. It 
is craped in ivy, overshadowed by trees gray with age. Near it 
flows one of the finest of England's streams, and the soft flowing 
waters of the pensive river murmur a dirge over the grave of 3Iary 
Chaworth as they kiss the sod near which she sleeps. To the 
last she bore the ancestral title, and with her died the once pow- 
erful fiimily and name of Chaworth. Such is a portion of the 
history of two beings who have been immortalized by the genius 
and passion of Bp'on ; and it is strange that their characters 
should have been so opposite, and the life of the one so unhappy. 

"When I was in Nottingham, there was great misery among the 
working classes. In passing through Annesley Park, I was ac- 
costed by four stout young men, who asked me for money to ob- 
tain bread. Their appearance forbade the idea of their being 
regular beggars, and I made some inquiries as to who and what 
they were. They informed me that they were hosiery weavers 
or knitters, but, owing to the depressed state of the trade, were 
unable to find employment. I gave them what I could spare, 
and asked them to sit down, and tell me some of the particulars 
of their distress. Three of the four were married. Neither of 
them had been at work for full six weeks, and, when they were 
employed, their earnings did not exceed seven shillings per week, 
and oftentimes it fell far short of that sum. They told me 
that there were hundreds of men in Nottingham starving, and 
they themselves had not had a regular meal for some days. Their 
appearance was favorable, and their plain unvarnished story bore 
no evidence of falsehood. They were willing and anxious to 
work, and revolted at the thought of turning beggars; but starva- 
tion stared them in the face, and they must either beg or steal; 
and thieves they were not. I parted with them, deeply impressed 
with their wretched condition. 

The next day, as I was leaving a shop where I had been to 
make a few purchases, I was stopped by three men who asked for 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 79 

alms. They were honest-looking fellows, and no one could doubt 
their willingness to work. They said they were what are called 
" cut-ups/' and could not get employment. They confirmed the 
statement of the first persons I met as to wages and the deplora- 
ble condition of the trade. 

At a meeting held at the Corn Exchange in the town on Fri- 
day evening, June G, 1851, on the depressed state of the hosiery 
trade, a gentleman resident in Nottingham stated ^' that there 
were two hundred and fifty married men in the drawer and shirt 
business, destitute of employment, all of them with families of 
four persons on the average, each, which would make one thou- 
sand persons in want of bread. With reference to the next 
branch, the ' cut-ups,' there were five hundred individuals out of 
work, none of whom had the means of procuring food, and putting 
them on the same average as the others, there were two thousand 
persons lacking the necessaries of life. They had passed through 
such panics before, but arising from very different causes to those 
now in operation, such as high provisions and scarcity of money. 
But here they were in the height of what was denominated free 
TRADE ! Cheap bread and a starving population ! ' He was a 
free trader,' but human nature was human nature, and how de- 
grading when their necessities could not be supplied one way, to 
see men perambulating the town, and going from house to house 
asking alms, while they were willing to work if they could obtain 
work. Had an honest born man any right to be reduced to such 
a position V 

Another speaker, a working man, said that there were three 
thousand glove-knitters in the counties of Nottingham, Leicester, 
and Derby, but of these not more than two hundred were anything 
like fully employed. Five hundred or six hundred earned on an 
average from five to seven shillings per week, while there were 
several hundreds more who could not earn more than from two to 
four shillings in that time. In the village of Bulwell, there were 
more glove hands than in Nottingham. And among six hundred 
glove-makers at that place, there were not above eighty who got 
anything like six shillings per week ; and the same result would 
be found in every district of the manufacture. 



80 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

Such was the deplorable and starving state of an honest class of 
industrious men^ in one of the finest towns of England, at a time 
when the great, glorious, and magnanimous British nation was 
prosecuting a war against savages in a distant section of the world, 
at a cost of £3000 per day ; and at the same time upbraiding and 
taunting Americans with slavery! Consistency, thou art rare ! 



CHAPTER VII. 

DERBY — LONDON INCIDENTS AND REMARKABLE PLACES. 

A LONG walk of a sunny day tires, especially when the pedes- 
trian is alone ; and, although green hedges surround him, and fine 
scenery occasionally blesses his vision if the sun have full sway, 
he is not likely to enjoy his ramble. From Nottingham to 
Derby was a dull journey, because of the heat and my companion- 
less situation. I plodded on over a smooth road, gazing on all that 
was worth looking at, but did not stop once in my walk of six- 
teen miles. The inns in the villages and on the road-side had no 
attractions for me, and I passed the ''Duke of Wellington'^ as care- 
lessly as I did the " Spotted Cow," or " Fox and Hounds.'' I felt 
the want of company. Some one to converse with would have been 
a relief, for then the long miles would have grown shorter, and 
the prospects doubly admired. Shakspeare told a home truth 
when he put into the mouth of one of his characters these lines : — 

" The liigh, Trikl hills, and rough uneven ways, 
Draw out our miles, and make them -wearisome ; 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable." 

1 wanted a companion in that stroll to sweeten the toil of travel, 
but found none. The sparrows and wagtails were disposed to be 
sociable at times, but I met with no mortal fit for my purpose. 
The peasants were either too stupid or too boorish to converse, and 
as I encountered no persons but them, T made no acquaintance. 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 81 

The road was pleasant in places where it crossed a bright 
stream or sinuous canal, and the artificial watercourses over which 
I passed were quite as romantic as the rivers. Skylarks soared 
heavenward from the meadows, piping their mellow notes from 
their skyey thrones when far beyond my vision, and seeming glad 
in their song. But still the heat was intolerable to me under a 
weighty knapsack, and the larks only crossed my path occasion- 
ally. When their notes were hushed, my load grew heavy, and 
I was well pleased, at last, to behold the beautiful town of Derby. 
I crossed the bridge over the Derwent, and plodded my way to an 
inn, where I found refreshment and comfortable quarters. 

The town had a clean aspect, and its old ivy-curtained church 
and pretty main street, its beautiful and chaste semi-cathedral 
and splendid public garden, supplied the void, in my mind, of 
the companion I desired in the early part of the day. I like 
the place; it is pretty — or was when I was there; and then, 
my old landlady was a kind motherly dame, who treated me 
in an affectionate manner, which fact caused me to overlook 
every defect the town possessed. Narrow crooked streets, clown- 
ish butchers, and other things of a like nature that might be 
objectionable to some, were not so to me because of the goodness 
of mine hostess. Benevolent old lady ! she had a sweet temper 
and an affectionate heart, and love for all mankind — even for 
Frenchmen, those terrible fellows, about whom nurses tell stories 
for frightening children to sleep in England. 

I was anxious to get to London ; a day in Derby was sufficient 
for my purpose, and I determined to go to the metropolis "by 
rail." The station at the town is among the largest in Great 
Britain, and quite imposing. While waiting for a train, I amused 
myself by looking over the cheap publications on a book-stand 
within, and found the works of quite a number of my countrymen 
there. Cheap editions of Cooper's novels; "Salmagundi" and 
"Sketch-Book" Melville's Island tales; Longfellow's, Willis's, and 
Bryant's poems; and the productions of other authors of note. I 
might increase the list to a catalogue, but the above enumeration 
will suffice. Bancroft's " History of the United States" appeared to 
be in demand, and the salesman told me the work sold well. It had 



82 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

just made its appearance in cheap form^ and, like Macaiilay's 
^^ England" "with us, went off rapidly, but not to the pecuniary ad- 
vantage of the author. I thought the publication of it a recip- 
rocal act, and if neither historian gets money by the reprinting 
of his productions in other lands, each is read more and becomes 
more famous — two things quite agreeable to some writers. 

The train was a good one, and on we dashed. Green fields 
fled by, towns were passed rapidly, and early in the afternoon of 
a summer's day, I arrived in London. My fellow-travellers were 
sociable, and disposed for conversation ; but I preferred being a 
listener to a participant. In a discussion which arose between 
them, reference was made to America, when one quickly replied, 
"A pretty land of freedom, where they have slaves in chains, 
and scourge them to death !" This man afterwards entered into 
conversation with me, and when he learned where I was from, im- 
mediately began to lecture me on slavery. I told him that it was 
an affair of our own ; that we generally managed to mind our own 
business; and I did not think his preaching would amount to much. 
He stopped, and asked me whether expressing an opinion con- 
cerning the institution was wrong. "Most decidedly," said I, "when 
it is done in the manner you have done it. Now, the very first 
thing you spoke to me about, after you ascertained where I was 
from, was slavery. You do not know whether I own slaves or 
not; and what 's more, you know nothing of slavery in America, 
as your remarks a few minutes ago fully testify." I told him that 
such persons as he had done more to perpetuate the institution in 
the United States than all the slave-holders in the country, and 
that his philanthropy would be better employed in trying to reme- 
dy the condition of the poor Irish than in interfering with a nation 
and an institution of which he evidently knew nothing. At this 
time, the train dashed into a tunnel of a mile or more in length. 
Darkness suspended the conversation until the cars emerged from 
the cavern, when I remarked that the subject was a black one, and 
I hoped the veil just drawn over it would remain. He acquiesced, 
and changed the topic. I continued with him until the end of 
the journey, and when we parted he "hoped he would have the 
pleasure of seeing me again." 



83 

Ou my first entrance into London, the roar of its crowded 
streets, accustomed as I am to cities, deafened me. I plodded 
my way along its thronged thoroughfares as much astonished as a 
rustic who, for the first time, visits a market-town. The history 
of certain localities had been impressed upon my mind for years, 
and when I turned into Gray's Inn Lane, it seemed like the reali- 
zation of a dream. Holborn Hill and Newgate Street — the Old 
Bailey, and "Paul's stupendous dome" — all reminded me of my 
school-boy days, and the old English time. I got down into the 
city, and almost up to the crowning work of Sir Christopher 
Wren, before I caught a glimpse of that mighty edifice. It dis- 
appointed me. Cramped in among a forest of bricks and mortar, 
it looked the merest pigmy, compared with what I had expected. 
But the surrounding localities repaid me for my disappointment. 
I sauntered along Cheapside, Paternoster Bow, Ludgate Hill, and 
many other streets fresh in the memory of the student of English 
history and literature. St. Paul's churchj^ard is '^classic ground." 
Childs' celebrated Coffee- House was located on that street, and it 
was there that Addison and his literary contemporaries were wont 
to resort for relaxation and social enjoyment. 

In ascending the hill from the Old Bailey up Newgate Street, I 
met several boys dressed in the costume of a forgotten age. Long 
blue coats, reaching down to their feet, yellow stockings, brown 
velvet short-clothes, and shoes with buckles, constituted their ap- 
parel. They were without hat or cap; and on they loitered, per- 
fectly indifi"erent to the gaping stranger. I rubbed my eyes and 
began to think that, like Bip Van AYinkle, I had just waked up 
from a nap of years in duration. No ! there were those boys in 
that ancient dress. I slowly moved on — a few steps brought me 
to an iron railing through which a number of curious persons 
were gazing. I looked within the inclosure, and saw hundreds of 
lads in the same costume worn by those I had just met. Some 
of them had their long coats tucked up under a leathern girdle, 
which goes around the waist j and their nether extremities looked 
oddly enough, encased in yellow hose. All were bareheaded; and 
some romped and shouted, while others formed two and two, and 
with arms around each other's waist promenaded, undisturbed, the 



84 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

vast court-yard, unheeding and unheeded save by the curious 
crowd. They looked like children of a past age; and now con- 
stitute a link between the present and the olden time. They 
were the scholars of the celebrated "Blue Coat School/' or 
Christ's Hospital, the place where S. T. Coleridge and Charles 
Lamb were educated. 

It was nearly night when I reached St. Martin's-le-Grand, and 
the streets were crowded to excess. Almost every description of 
vehicle rushed along the thoroughfares, and torrents of human 
beings poured down the sounding avenues. Bustle and confusion 
frighted the air, and stunned me. I sought out lodgings, but 
could not sleep — the noise was continuous and eternal. The day 
encroached upon the night, and before the night had passed the 
clash of wheels again shook the quivering air. I arose early, and 
looked from my window. Directly opposite was a sign bearing 
a clcxssic inscription, "0, Bare Ben Jonson;" and Aldersgate 
Street lay before me. I had been dozing on famous ground, and 
the ghosts of departed authors, no doubt, disturbed my slumbers. 
A short distance below me was Little Britain, and near by Bar- 
tholomew's Close. " Shade of Franklin I" thought I, '' and do my 
wandering feet tread the soil of London once trodden by thine ? 
I plucked some grass from thy grave in Philadelphia; I'll leave 
it with some admirer of thine in Little Britain." 

I had no appetite for mutton-chops and hot rolls; the desire to 
visit St. Paul's was paramount, and destroyed that for breakfast. 
A slight repast was sufficient at the time, and then I sallied forth. 
The tremendous -pile could not be mistaken, although it disap- 
pointed me at first. The best views I could obtain of it in the 
city w^ere from Ludgate Hill and St. Martin's-le-Grand, near the 
Post-Office. From other points no sight could be had sufficiently 
grand; a portion was all that could be seen, and that was limited. 

I wended my way through old and uninviting streets to the 
Thames, and soon gained a position on Blackfriar's Bridge, from 
which a fine prospect was presented. The dome rose in peerless 
grandeur above the surrounding dwellings, and appeared to gaze 
down upon them with a consciousness of its glorious proportions 
and immense altitude; but it was black and dingy. The coal 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 85 

smoke lias penetrated the porous stone, and discolored it horribly. 
The statues of the apostles which adorn the exterior of the edi- 
fice are considerably worn by the action of the weather, and the 
whole of the giant structure without, looks, to one who has been 
accustomed to fine white buildings, as if it had recently sufi'ered 
from the smoke of a long-continued neighboring fire, and no efibrt 
had been made to clean it. 

But the splendid edifice attests the magnitude of the mind of 
its originator, and gives evidence of his genius. When you look 
up to its stupendous dome, a feeling of awe comes over you, and 
you are disposed to glorify the man whose brain conceived it. The 
every-day passer regards it not ; but the stranger — he who comes 
thousands of miles to behold it — gazes with admiration, and goes 
away with its form indelibly stamped on his memory, and an 
opinion of the godlike powers of man impressed upon his mind, 
of which he never dreamed before. 

It is a triumphant achievement of art; and well may England 
be proud of the gem. The interior is iuipressive and grand; the 
dome vaults above the spectator like another sky, and the admi- 
rable proportions and uniformity of design of every portion please 
and elevate the mind. 

I sauntered into the vast structure with feelings akin to rever- 
ence, and felt a thrill of admiration shoot through my frame 
when I gazed upwards to the cupola. Sir James ThornhilFs 
famous paintings were scarcely perceptible, and the figures were 
indistinct, but the architecture was all sublime. Sir Christopher's 
works stand to this day as firm and beautiful as when first erected, 
and time adds to their grandeur. But why not keep them clean ? 
Bust covers the capitals within, and there is not one of the many 
splendid statues in St. Paul's that is not shrouded in the same 
material. Crowds of people were there gazing upon the splendid 
sculpture, and vergers were pointing out the monuments of the 
distinguished to strangers; but no one could tell why the dust was 
suffered to accumulate on the figures of marble, the Corinthian 
capitals, and along the galleries and stairs. It is said that the 
cathedral was paid for by a tax on every chaldron of coal brought 
into London during the time of its construction; and it deserves to 
8 



86 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

wear, as it doe?, a smoky coat without, and a dusty one within. 
It looks as though the tax were still collected, in kind. 

The monuments are numerous and generally classic and elegant, 
but the inscriptions are not all truthful. General Eoss, who was 
killed at Baltimore, is stated to have fallen in a successful attack 
on the American lines, which is a slitjrht deviation from the actual 
facts of the case, as every schoolboy on our side of the Atlantic 
knows. The crypt contains the graves of Nelson, Collingwood, 
and a host of England's distinguished painters, among which is 
that of Benjamin West. 

Divine service is performed daily in the choir and chapel, but 
the attendance is never large, the choristers and officials gene- 
rally greatly outnumbering the congregation. During the Exhi- 
bition, the visitors, who were in the building at the time of service, 
usually remained, but they were indifferent to the ceremonies, and 
only curious as to the music and beauties of the choir. The boys 
engaged in chanting were talented, and sang sweetly, but not 
much can be said for their behavior or respect for the sanctuary 
in which they stood. Some of them were exceedingly ill-behaved, 
and quite unfit, so far as conduct went, for the solemn duties 
required of them. 

Westminster Abbey and Poet's Corner have more attractions 
for me than any other places in Europe, excepting the Eternal 
City. I felt peculiar sensations of pleasure in treading their 
sacred precincts. The monuments of so many persons of distinc- 
tion as there meet the eye are to be seen nowhere else in Eng- 
land ; and the halo shed over those tombs by both the living and 
the dead has given the place a celebrity as wide as the confines of 
earth. There repose, within a few paces of each other, the remains 
of men who have shed undying lustre on the literature of Great 
Britain, and the genius of sculpture and poesy has been taxed to 
adorn their tombs. The ashes of Addison rest undisturbed in the 
same aisle in Henry the Seventh's chapel where repose those of 
Queen Elizabeth, an evidence of the high appreciation the English 
people have for him who reflected and wrote so well upon the 
lesson one learns in contemplating the tombs of the great. The 



OR^ WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 87 

dusty monuments of long-forgotten heroes, and men of warlike 
distinction of former ages, had no attractions for me. They, like 
the ashes of those whose memories they were erected to commemo- 
rate, are mouldering into dust, and their inscriptions are becoming 
illegible. In the south aisle of Henry the Seventh's chapel is a 
gorgeous tomb over the remains of Mary, Queen of Scots, while 
in the adjoining aisle, to the north, under a splendid monument, 
moulder those of her tyrannical and imperious persecutor, Eliza- 
beth. Charles the Second is buried in a vault near the last resting- 
place of the unfortunate Mary, and the ashes of William of Orange 
and his queen mingle with those of the ^' Merry Monarch." 

The sculpture in Poet's Corner is generally most excellent. 
That to Addison, Gray, Thomson, Milton, and Shakspeare ap- 
peared to be the best. Busts of Southey and Dryden beautify 
the place, and an admirable tablet to the memory of that great 
scholar, Goldsmith, attracts attention. Immediately above it is a 
glorious stained window, the most superb in London. The in- 
scriptions are various, and some of them labored. One, on the 
tomb of Gay, written by himself, struck me as too trifling : — 

"Life is a jest, and all things show it; 
I thought so once, and now I know it." 

The statue of the Bard of Avon holds a scroll in one hand, on 
which are engraved those beautiful lines from the Tempest — 

"The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve. 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a wreck behind." 

How appropriate and how true ! The reflecting man might 
pass hours in contemplation among the tombs of Westminster 
Abbey; but it would be folly and presumption in me to attempt 
to moralize in a place about which Addison and Irving have 
written so well. 

The other monuments are numerous, but beyond a splendid 
statue to Mrs. Siddons, and one to her celebrated brother, John 
Kemble, there are but few deserving mention on account of those 



88 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

they are erected to immortalize^ and they are chiefly meritorious 
only as works of art. 

The " Tower of London" is one of the lions of the city, and no 
man is a true traveller unless he visits it. The first thing you 
meet with in that celebrated place is a demand for a shilling, 
after the payment of which, you are handed over to the care of 
one of a dozen burly fellows, called by the Londoners "beef-eaters/' 
who are dressed in the costume of soldiers of the days of Henry 
the Seventh. Myself and companion were shown through the 
galleries of armor, where there was a large quantity of implements 
of war, ancient and modern, and a host of figures of men and 
horses in suits of mail. We visited the cells of Sir Walter Ra- 
leigh and Lady Jane Grey, and were shown the axe which severed 
the heads of the three Scottish lords from their bodies for taking 
part in the rebellion raised by the Pretender in 1745. The block 
on which they were beheaded was also exhibited, and the cells in 
which they were imprisoned. We saw several inscriptions in the 
dungeons, which had been made by those incarcerated there, and 
entered one of the gloomy abodes. The prisons of Anne Boleyn 
and the Earl of Essex were shown us, and the world-renowned 
place of execution, on which spot some of the worst and some of 
the best blood of England has been poured out. The graves of 
the victims are in and around the chapel, within the walls, but 
of late years the inscriptions on the tombs have been removed ; 
the acts they recorded being considered disgraceful to the nation. 
Tower Hill, from w^hich the people formerly witnessed the pun- 
ishment of state criminals, is still an open space, commanding a 
full view of the former place of execution. 

The room in which the crown jewels are kept is in one of the 
new towers, built since the fire a few years ago. An old woman 
has charge of the treasures, and it is her duty to describe them to 
visitors. In a space less than two feet square there is jewelry 
valued at £3,000,000, or nearly $15,000,000. The crowns are 
splendid, and that of Victoria sparkles with precious stones. The 
English are very proud of the show, and take great delight in 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 89 

witnessing the astonishment of foreigners who express surprise 
and admiration at the value and splendor of the regal baubles. 

The buildings of London are far from attractive. The most 
celebrated edifices look black and disfigured, and many of them 
are so covered with dust and smoke as to make them appear to 
great disadvantage. The Bank of England and Post-Office look 
fine on paper; but, when viewed as they are, they have but few 
attractions. The greater part of the houses are built of a coarse 
yellowish-brown brick, and not one of them will compare favora- 
bly with the dwellings of Philadelphia or New York. The " West 
End," renowned the world over, as the most superb part of the 
city, is as dingy in many places as the large warehouses in the 
business parts of our large cities. E,egent Street, reputed to be 
the finest thoroughfare in England, is not remarkable for beauty, 
and if it were not for the semicircular form it takes at the point 
known as the Quadrant, would compare unfavorably with Broad- 
way in the Empire City. The smoke blackens every structure, 
and destroys what, in a clear atmosphere, would be regarded as 
splendid. The principal edifices are constructed of Portland stone, 
a species of white granite, inferior in point of wear to our coarsest 
marble, and quite easily soiled. These remarks apply more par- 
ticularly to the older parts of London. 

The Tunnel is the most remarkable work about London, and 
well worth a lengthened visit. It is used only for foot-passen- 
gers, and those are mostly strangers who visit out of curiosity. 
One thoroughfare is closed, and at a particular part partitioned 
off into a room, in which balls are given on specified evenings. 
The arches leading from one passage to the other are occupied with 
stands for the sale of fancy and useful articles, and at each entrance- 
shaft there are exhibitions of pictures. The view along the ave- 
nues is very fine, and as the walls are white and the passages are 
brilliantly lighted with gas, the effect is both strange and pleasing 
when the way is thronged with people. The Tunnel is twelve 
hundred feet long, and as it extends some distance on either side 
of the river, a person, from this fact, can form a tolerable idea of 

8* 



90 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

the width of Father Thames, a stream by no means so contempt- 
able as Americans pretend to regard it. 

> 

The British Museum contains an immense collection of speci- 
mens of two of the natural Kingdoms — Animal and Mineral — and 
it is also rich in ancient and modern art. The Elgin and other 
marbles are numerous; but I do not see the utility of dragging the 
broken fragments of Grrecian temples to the metropolis of Britain, 
and converting them into a show. The classic ruins of that great 
land should be permitted to moulder on her hills and among her 
deserted cities. It may be excusable to dig from the earth the 
remains of the proud city of Nineveh, and take them to the capital 
of a nation devoted to Christianity, as an evidence of the accuracy 
of the Scriptures; but many of the splendid edijQces of the land of 
Homer still face the storms and gales of the ^gean Sea, and there 
all the products of the chisel of that immortal land should be per- 
mitted to remain. 

Near London Bridge is the monument erected to commemorate 
the great fire of 1665. It rises to the height of 202 feet, and is 
built of Portland stone. The inscriptions are in Latin, and quite 
lengthy. The one charging the origin of the conflagration to the 
Catholics of that day has been erased some years^ Pope's cutting 
lines having done much to remove the slander : — 

"Where London's column, pointing at the skies, 
Like a tall biilly lifts its head, and lies!" 

The view from the top is not very fine, and scarcely repays a per- 
son for climbing up three hundred and eleven steps. 

The old localities celebrated on account of some remarkable 
event are but little known to the citizens of London, and the 
stranger who has studied the literature of England, and the lives 
of her distinguished authors, is likely to know more of the his- 
tory of particular places than one born in the city. Numbers 
of the inhabitants who are nov/ old have never been in the 
Tower, or St. Paul's, and but few can point out the locality of 
the famous Tyburn. Little Britain, once tlie residence of pub- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 91 

lisliers and booksellers, is changed, and Paternoster Eow en- 
joys its honorable trade. It was one of the many London homes 
of Milton, and our Franklin lodged in it during his first stay in 
the metropolis. He then worked as a journeyman printer in 
Palmer's printing-office, at Bartholomew's Close, near at hand. 
Grub Street, a name once associated with everything vile in 
literature, has suffered an extraordinary change, and at present is 
called after the author of Paradise Lost. This is bespattering 
the sublime with the ridiculous most unaccountably, and chang- 
ing all that is base and low in the literary world to all that is 
ennobling and grand. I visited St. Giles' Church, Cripple Gate, 
the burial-place of Milton, and of Fox, the author of the Book 
of Martyrs. It is a dingy old building, in an ancient part of the 
city, and remarkable for being the church in which Oliver Crom- 
well was married. Not far from my residence, which was in 
Little Britain, is Bunhiltfields Burial-Ground, the receptacle of 
the dead during the ravages of the great plague of 1665. Defoe, 
the author of Robinson Crusoe, and historian of that terrible 
calamity, is buried there, in the spot whose horrors he described 
so graphically; and in the same place reposes all that is mortal 
of John Bunyan, the author of the " Pilgrim's Progress." The 
tombs in this renowned charnel are so numerous that it appears 
impossible to find room for another grave. I never saw so many 
in one spot before. Bunyan was buried in the vault of a friend 
in whose house he died, and the tomb over his grave has been so 
much worn by the action of the weather as to obliterate the in- 
scriptions placed there when it was erected. In one side of the 
structure a marble tablet has been inserted, on which is inscribed 
''Mr. John Bunyan, Author of the Pilgrim's Progress, Obit. 
31 August, 1688. Mt. 60." Other persons of celebrity are 
interred there, among whom are George Fox, the founder of the 
sect of Quakers, and Susannah Wesley, mother of John Wesley, 
the founder of Methodism ; and Dr. Watts, the Christian poet, 
whose hymns are sung wherever the English language is spoken. 
Gray's Inn Fields, in olden times the fashionable promenade of 
a summer's evening, is now one of the most secluded retreats in 
London. The square is situate in the heart of the metropolis, 



92 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

and one of the approaches is through Fulwood's Eents, now the 
squalid habitation of some of London's most miserable poor. The 
days of the " Tattler" and '^Spectator" are gone; but the walks in 
G-ray's Inn Fields are as pleasant now as they were when Addi- 
son and his contemporaries were accustomed to enjoy themselves, 
under the bending boughs of the oaks and elms which shade that 
green retreat. 

The public gardens and squares of the great city, aside from 
the parks, are numerous, and at the fashionable or West End 
mostly abound. I have walked for miles around and through 
these pleasant places, and always found them welcome resorts. 
Portman, Cavendish, Grosvenor, Berkley, and Leicester Squares 
are all worthy a visit for their beauty, and the admirable order in 
which they are kept. Connaught Square, the Tyburn of old, is 
one of the prettiest places of residence in the modern Babylon. 
It was there that the bones of Cromwell were exposed and hung 
in chains, after they were torn from Henry the Seventh's Chapel 
in Westminster Abbey, and on that spot the Maid of Kent was 
burned for disputing with some divines upon a point of doctrine. 

During a visit to Hyde Park, I had a look at Prince Albert 
and the Queen. They were in an open carriage drawn by four 
cream-colored horses, and attended by outriders and couriers in 
advance. The Queen is a homely little woman, with an amiable 
expression of countenance, and not much like the portraits we 
see of her. Her husband is one of the finest-looking men in 
England, of easy, graceful manners, and a face indicative of a well 
cultivated mind devoid of ambition. He does not exhibit any 
marks of care, but on the contrary looks the very picture of happi- 
ness and content. Among the English people he is highly es- 
teemed, and without the cares of state or the enmity of political 
opponents, he enjoys the love and confidence of the nation. The 
crowds in the park showed great respect to the royal couple, 
Vv'hich was acknowledged by frequent bows from the prince. 

Whitehall, the palace in former days of the English kings, 
and the place where Charles the First was executed, is now but 
little used, and only interesting on account of its historical asso- 
ciations. In the court-yard there is a bronze statue of James the 
Second, as great a tyrant as his father, and who ought to have 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 93 

shared the same fate, '^without the reputation of a martyr." It 
was in front of the building to the north that Charles lost his 
head; and by authentic statements it appears that the scaffold 
was erected before the building facing the present Horse Guards, 
and the king was led to execution through a window of the 
Banqueting House, which is pointed out to this day. The palace 
has suffered by fire on several occasions, and has not been used 
for a royal residence for some years. 

The Royal Exchange, Cornhill, is the most chaste building in 
London of modern construction. In this edifice are the celebrat- 
ed mercantile rooms of the Lloyds. The list of American news- 
papers on file there is meagre in the extreme, there not being more 
than three or four in all, and not one of them from Phila- 
delphia. In the vestibule at the head of the stairs, leading to 
these rooms, are two or more fine statues, and in the wall of the 
same apartment is a tablet erected to commemorate the public 
spirit and zeal of the proprietors of the London "Times,'^ in ex- 
posing a great commercial fraud a few years since. 

Westminster Hall, in Palace Yard, is one of the most re- 
nowned buildings in the world. It is two hundred and ninety 
feet in length and sixty-eight feet in breadth, and the roof is sup- 
ported without a single column. It is highly ornamented with 
carved oak and chestnut, and the view from one extreme to the 
other is most imposing. It was within its walls that Charles 
Stuart, tyrant of England, was convicted and sentenced to die. 
There Sir William Wallace, Sir Thomas More, and the Earl of 
Strafibrd were condemned and doomed to the scaffold; and in 
that hall Oliver Cromwell was inaugurated Lord Protector of 
England. AYarrei||P^astings was tried there; and there the head 
of Cromwell was raised on a pole, after his remains had been torn 
from the grave, and beside it were placed the skulls of Ireton and 
Bradshaw, as an evidence of the attachment of the British 
people to royalty, and their hatred of him who had raised their 
country from a mere dependency to a position where it was feared 
and respected by the nations of the earth. It is now the vestibule 
to the new Houses of Parliament, and on special occasions it is used 



94 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

as a banqueting-room by the royal family and nobility of the 
realm. 

Guildhall, the principal seat of city legislation in London, is 
famous for two enormous wooden statues of frightful appearance, 
called Gog and Magog. There is also a very good marble statue 
of the celebrated Lord Mayor Beckford, represented in the act of 
politely bearding George the Third. On a tablet under the figure 
is a scroll, on which is engraved the speech delivered on that occa- 
sion to the king. On the ninth of July, 1851, her Majesty, the 
Queen of the British realms, honored the city of London with a 
visit to Guildhall, at which place a ball was given by the Lord 
Mayor, in celebration of the Great Exhibition. For some days 
previously preparations were begun for the royal reception, and 
at night the streets which formed the line of procession were one 
blaze of light. The Horse Guards were placed along the line to 
aid the police in keeping the way clear and preserving order, and 
hundreds of thousands of people were out to witness the show. 
I stood in Cheapside, near St. Paul's, to see the gracious sovereign 
pass, and at about half-past nine her approach was announced. 

There were seven carriages in the train, each one adorned with 
gilding in profusion; and servants in costly livery, with gold 
laced cocked hats, hung like ornaments to the glittering chariots. 
The Queen and the Prince consort occupied the last one in the 
retinue, which was surrounded by a detachment of the Horse 
Guards, who made a splendid show in their glittering armor and 
uniforms. The carriages passed so rapidly that it was next to 
impossible to see her Majesty, and, as I had been favored with a 
look at her on a previous occasion, I was not disappointed. The 
utmost enthusiasm prevailed among her loyg||subjects, and when 
she made her appearance many of them testified their admiration 
and loyalty by taking off their hats, while others were busily en- 
gaged in picking pockets, as the police records of the next day 
clearly showed. Bow-bells and the chime in St. Paul's rang 
merrily out during the evening, and the music of their peals was 
heard above the roar of the sounding streets of London. The 
foolish custom of closing the gates of Temple Bar, and requiring 
the monarch to knock for admission, was omitted on this occasion 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 95 

for the first time for many years. The Arch is the only remain- 
ing bar of the many which once adorned the walls of London. It 
is at the point where Fleet Street and the Strand join, and the 
western boundary of the city. In olden days it was there that 
the heads of criminals were placed after execution. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

london thoroughfares — society — the parks — ^^the 
world's fair.'' 

The streets of the metropolis are almost constantly crowded 
with vehicles and pedestrians; nor does this remark apply only to 
those thoroughfares in the fashionable or business parts of the 
city. In rambling about London, a person will meet a continuous 
tide of people, and the cross streets are nearly as much traversed 
as the main avenues. The population is immense, and the num- 
ber of strangers very great, so that nearly all places of amusement 
are well attended. Omnibuses are countless, and run from an 
early hour in the morning until long after midnight; and as they 
branch off from central points to every important suburb and 
neighboring village, intercourse between the business portions of 
London and the metropolitan boroughs is rapid and cheap. They 
are substantially built conveyances; nor would it do to have them 
slight, as they would be jarred to pieces soon if they were- 
Each one has a driver and conductor, both of whom are absolutely 
required, in consequence of the construction of the 'Lusses, and the 
amount of travel by them. There are seats on top as well as 
inside, and many prefer the outside in clear weather, because of 
the opportunities it affords for observation. 

There is but little observance of the Sabbath in London by the 
working classes — that being as much of a gala-day there as in 
New Orleans. Omnibuses, steamboats, and railways give the tired 
denizens of the unfashionable portions a conveyance to the coun- 



96 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

try, where tliey can breathe the fresh air, and enjoy the clear sun- 
shine. Omnibuses, cabs, and private carriages are more numerous 
in some parts of the city on that day than any other, and although 
business is suspended generally, the hurry and bustle going on in 
the streets do not convey to the mind of the stranger much evi- 
dence of the day being the Sabbath. All go civilly on, however, 
and personal encounters or disturbances are of rare occurrence, 
the police being sufficient to intimidate the riotously inclined. 

The parks of London deserve the attention of the stranger as 
much as any other objects of interest in the metropolis. The 
largest ones are not so beautiful as some of those with fewer acres, 
but all are splendid resorts. The trees are large, and as they are 
principally oaks and elms, their branches extend so as to form 
leafy arcades for a great distance. People are permitted to ramble 
over the grass, and it is not unusual to see them lying down under 
the trees, reading, or asleep. Care has been taken in the arrange- 
ment of the oaks and elms, and they are mostly planted at given 
distances apart, in a straight line, thus forming an arbor of great 
beauty. Of a Sunday evening, Kensington Gardens is thronged 
with the citizens of the West End, and as it is decidedly the finest 
park in London, it is the most resorted to. Hyde Park is attached 
to the gardens, but it is not so well cared for. It is the fashionable 
resort of the " exclusives'^ of the metropolis, and one part is ap- 
propriated solely to equestrians, while another is used for carriages. 
The display at the customary hour is great. Ladies are as nume- 
rous as gentlemen, and liveried servants outnumber even them. 
The road for equestrians is usually crowded to excess, and it would 
embarrass one to tell how a lady finds enjoyment in such a thronged 
thoroughfare, on horseback. Before the fashionable hour arrives, 
if the weather is dry, water is sprinkled along the road to lay 
the dust, but the mud created in that way appeared to me to be 
worse than any dust possibly could be. The horses are splashed 
with it, and not unfrequently the ladies and gentlemen. The 
carriages are usually attended by two servants, dressed in livery, 
mounted on the box, or one on the box and the other hanging on 
behind like an ornament. These men are generally good looking; 
but their want of independence, as exhibited in their dress, is re- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 97 

pulsive. They are to be met in every variety of outlandish cos- 
tume, from yellow coats and cocked hats, trimmed with gold lace, 
red short-clothes, and powdered wigs, down to genteel black, and 
neatly tied white cravats, and cockades pinned to their hats. 
In some instances, a person will meet a lady and gentleman on 
horseback riding leisurely along, while at a short distance behind, 
mounted on a fine horse, follows one of those liveried menials, 
with about as much spirit as a whipped cur. Several times I 
have seen them asleep on their carriages, in front of the door of 
a princely mansion, or while waiting in line at Regent's Park. 

Cattle and sheep in great numbers are frequently seen in the 
principal parks, and oftentimes there are as many as eight or nine 
thousand sheep pasturing at once in one of those inclosures. 

The Zoological Gardens in the last-named ground are kept in 
admirable order, and the collection of animals is both extensive 
and various. There are specimens of natural history from every 
section of the world, and it is a matter of surprise that animals 
from warm climates live and thrive so well in English air as those 
do in Regent's Park. The hippopotamus and '^ urau utan'^ (as 
they will have the orthography of the name) appear to exist 
there as healthfully as they do in their native climes. In our 
tour of observation, we discovered several acquaintances from our 
side of the Atlantic, not the least familiar of which was that perti- 
nacious and eccentric ^'Old ^Coon.'^ Poor fellow! he looked thin 
and downcast, English fogs by no means agreeing with his con- 
stitution. 

Saturday afternoon is a favorite time, among the wealthy and 
titled, for visiting the Zoological Gardens, and then and there the 
stranger has an opportunity of seeing the refined society of Lon- 
don. Good conduct, gentle behavior, and suavity of manner 
characterize the gentlemen, and all that contributes to the eleva- 
tion of female character is discoverable in the ladies. The mem- 
bers of noble families have little or none of that affected pomp 
about them that distinguishes the upstart and imitative apes of 
aristocracy ; and it requires but a small amount of penetration 
on the part of the observer to discover who is the real and who 
the spurious noble. The imitation nearly always exposes his vul- 
9 



98 THE i'OUTl»ATII AInD HIGHWAY ; 

garity, while the genuiae ever exhibits the breeding of a true 
gentlemau. Among the ladies in the gardens at the time of our 
visit, there were some of remarkable beauty, and nearly all of 
them were fine figures. 

The band of one of the favorite regiments was present, and per- 
formed many splendid pieces in masterly style. The presence of 
that musical corps always attracts a large company to the Zoolo- 
gical Gardens. 

The great metropolis is a Pandemonium ! The noise of its 
streets is eternal, and the throngs which pour down its roaiing 
thoroughfares are continual. I have wandered over and around it, 
from the splendid mansions of the West End to the abodes of 
squalid wretchedness and crime in Spitalfields and Shoreditch. 
There is every variety of life within its limits, from the highest to 
the lowest, and people of every nation and clime. The two ex- 
tremes of the immense city are admirable illustrations of the con- 
dition of the aristocracy, and of the degraded and ignorant poor. 
The one is all splendor, and the apparent abode of content; the 
other a den of misery and want. Thousands of strangers visit 
London, and confine themselves to Kegent Street, Piccadilly, and 
Oxford Road, without even thinking of Whitechapel or the more 
wretched localities in the neighborhood of Houndsditch. When 
a man travels for information, he should see the high and low of 
society in the lands he visits, and then he will be better able to 
form opinions of the exact condition of a people. He who seeks 
grandeur may go to the palaces of the rich, and drink in inspira- 
tion by gazing upon the splendid productions of the pallet and the 
chisel; and, if he desires, he can lounge of an afternoon on the 
green sward of Regent's or Hyde Park, and witness a di.splay of 
fiinery and aristocratic pomp not to be seen in any other section of 
the world in such grand array. If all the inhabitants of the over- 
grown city were in as good circumstances as those to be met at 
these places on such occasions, then would London be a happy 
place, and the residents a contented people. But such is far from 
being the case. Take an afternoon walk, and follow Bishopsgate 
Street to Shoreditch, turn oif into White Lion Street, and follow 
up until you reach Grey Eagle and Wilkes Street, and a dift'erent 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN, 99 

prospect from that witnessed in Hyde Park will meet your gaze. 
Silk of splendid color is there ; but it is in the loom of the poor 
half-starved Spitalfields weaver, who works from dawn until near 
midnight over the costly fabric, for a miserable pittance, in a hovel 
of filth and wretchedness. There are no persons in livery there, 
no gold-fringed coats, or powdered wigs, but barefooted women 
and men, and human beings clothed in rags so tattered as to cause 
one to wonder how they are kept together. The streets are as 
filthy as the houses, and there is not a blade of grass or a park in 
the neighborhood. On one of the streets adjoining there is a 
school-house for the young, but compared with the Queen's stables 
it is a pigsty, and her Majesty's prancing horses receive more 
care and have better sleeping apartments than her loyal subjects 
in the unfashionable streets of Spitalfields. After the visitor has 
satisfied his curiosity in the localities named, let him return, and 
pass dovv'n Long Alley, a narrow passage about six feet wide, to 
the west of Bishopsgate Street, and there he will see another phase 
of life at the East End of the greatest city in the world, and then 
he may go to one of the parks at the fjishionable part of the me- 
tropolis, but not with the favorable opinion of the people of Lon- 
don he entertained before visiting the classic quarter of Shoreditch. 

Misery, poverty, and want have always existed in large cities, 
and must continue under the present social system ; but, for all, 
much could be done to improve the condition of the poor of the 
English metropolis^ if those who have it in their power to do so 
would only try. 

The customs of some of the people of the ^^ wen of England," 
as Cobbett called it, are not such as we would desire to imitate. 
Itfis not unusual to see men walking the streets with ladies, and 
pulSng the smoke of most abominable tobacco into the faces of 
their fair companions. The weed is not masticated as with us, 
and he who chews is not esteemed very highly, but cigar and pipe- 
smoking is common, and carried to great extremes. 

Gin-palaces abound throughout the city, and men and women 
resort to them in vast numbers. They are generally provided with 
two entrances ; one for those who drink the liquor on the premises, 
the other for those who purchase it for home use. The signs in- 



100 

form the public wliich is the ^^jug entrance," and which the com- 
mon reception-room, while the stranger, who is curious in such 
affairs, can learn that Mr. Smith, Wuie and Sj^ii'ii Merchant 
(they are all merchants), is licensed to sell rum in doses from a 
half-pennyworth to a gallon or more. Many women resort to these 
dens, and it is not unusual to see them drinking their half-and- 
half with as much gusto as the most practised male topers. The 
class usually found there is not of degraded persons such as we 
would expect to see, but those who have pretensions to respecta- 
bility in their sphere of life, and many of them are mechanics and 
small tradesmen. Ale, or beer, as it is commonly called, is the 
ordinary drink of the people. Water is not much used as a beve- 
rage, and the one who calls for a glass of that fluid in an eating- 
house in London is looked at with surprise. The water used in 
the metropolis for domestic purposes has a bad taste, and it is rea- 
sonable to conclude that much of the ale-drinking results from this 
foct. 

The habit of drinking spirituous and malt liquors is carried to 
great excess, and there are many families among the better or 
middle class of artisans and shopkeepers who keep gin and other 
alcoholic distillations in the house constantly. Gin and hot water, 
sweetened, is a very common beverage with that class, and it is 
not only drank by the men, but by women also. It is a house- 
hold drink on festive occasions or social gatherings, and all par- 
take of it. 

To give my readers some idea of the extent of the retail liquor 
trade in the metropolis, I will state that a publican, doing a small 
business in the city, informed me that he usually sold 580 gallons 
of gin in ten weeks alone, and other liquors in proportion, ^is 
place was small, and he could count thirty gin-palaces beside his 
own in a circuit of a hundred yards around him. He paid nearly 
$18,000 for the stand he occupies, with a lease of about forty 
years' duration. That is for the good-will ! His rent and taxes 
amount to a considerable sum annually. The premiums demanded 
and paid for some of these establishments are enormous, and almost 
incredible. One of them was sold, while I was in London, for 
$40,000, and the lease had but thirty years to run, after which 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 101 

time the house will revert to the owner, unless the purchaser of 
the good-will and custom can get a renewal. This sum was paid 
as a premium; the buyer is under an annual rent of $700, in ad- 
dition to his taxes and other expenses, and yet it was believed 
that he would realize money from the speculation ; and when we 
reflect that the poison is sold to poor wretches in penny and three- 
penny glasses, some idea can be formed of the intemperate habits 
of a large portion of the London poor, and the enormous profits of 
the venders of intoxicating drinks. The taxes imposed upon the 
English people by their rulers are heavy, but nothing in amount 
to those they impose upon themselves for rum. 

The churches of London, in earlier days, were the burial-places 
of distinguishe(^persons, and there are but few of the old ones 
without monuments to eminent or celebrated individuals. Gold- 
smith is buried in Temple Churchyard. Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
tague, the witty correspondent of Pope, and Wilkes, the dema- 
gogue, in the vault of Grosvenor Chapel, in South Audley Street; 
and Otway, the poet, in St. Clement's Danes, a church in the 
Strand, between Temple Bar and Charing Cross. Nell Gwynne, 
the originator of Chelsea Hospital; and James Smith, one of 
the authors of '' Rejected Addresses,^^ are buried, among a num- 
ber of others, in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, a very pretty building 
if it were possible to keep it clean. Every Friday the Charity 
Children of the Parish, male and female, sing anthems in the 
choir, and the music of their youthful voices is sweet enough to 

''Create a soul 
Under the ribs of Death." 

Among the multitude of places in London, having some little 
historic interest, is Smithfield Common, the spot where John 
Rogers was burned, and Sir William Wallace and the gentle 
Mortimer executed. Wat Tyler was killed there ; and a host of 
wretches suffered death on that spot by fagot and flame, for 
opinion's sake. Smithfield market-place is one of the filthiest 
parts of London. Parliament recently decided to remove the 
stalls, and provide a new inclosure for the sale of cattle. In 
front of the space, to the south, stands St. Bartholomew's Hos- 

9* 



102 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

pital, founded in 1102; over the main entrance to which is a 
good statue of that royal bloodhound and memorable brute, 
Henry the Eighth. 

In 1849, during the digging for a new sewer, at the depth of 
three feet below the surface of the earth, the workmen laid open 
a mass of rough stones blackened as if by fire, and covered with 
ashes, and human bones charred and partially consumed. This 
was on the spot where the authorities used to cause the victims of 
persecution and bigotry to be put to death, and the remains found 
were, no doubt, those of persons who died by fire and fagot on 
this celebrated place of execution. 

Chelsea Hospital is situated on the Thames, about five miles 
from London Bridge, and, as the boats running to that institution 
pass under all the bridges, a good view is afforded from the river 
of many objects which cannot be seen to advantage from any 
other point. The houses, with very few exceptions, are built 
immediately on the river on both sides, leaving no space or 
wharves as wath us. The new houses of Parliament are so situ- 
ated; as is also the famous Somerset House. The bridges are 
noble structures, with a single exception, at the city; but, as the 
stream lessens greatly in width as you approach Chelsea, the via- 
ducts become less imposing and less extensive. London Bridge 
is constantly filled with vehicles and pedestrians, making a con- 
tinuous stream from morning till night. The others are but very 
little less traversed, and Southwark Iron Bridge and Blackfriars 
are always thronged with people. The view of the river from 
the deck of a steamer, looking down stream, is of a singular 
character. Probably no river in the world presents such a 
strange appearance for so great a distance. From below London 
Bridge, the Thames is literally swarming with craft of every de- 
scription known to the commercial and marine world, and it often 
puzzles the uninitiated how the little steamers which ply up and 
down the river manage to make their trips without being run 
into and sunk. Sometimes the space through which they are 
compelled to go is barely wide enough to admit them to pass, and 
yet they are so admirably navigated that no accident of a serious 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 103 

character ever occurs. They are much crowded during clear weor- 
ther by excursiooists to the different places on the stream. 

lu company with an American friend, I made an agreeable trip 
to Chelsea, and although the Thames is both black and narrow, 
we saw many objects on shore, as we ascended, to interest us. 
Lambeth Palace, the ancient residence of the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, on the Surrey side, is noted for being the prison of 
the Lollards, the first Dissenters in the days of John Wickliffe, 
and that fact hallows the pile. Chelsea Hospital was founded by 
Nell Gwynne and Charles the Second for old and disabled Eng- 
lish soldiers, and at present there are several hundred supported in 
the institution. In the chapel and hall a great many trophies are 
displayed which were taken in battle in different sections of the 
world by the British army, and I noticed a number of American 
flags among them. They were captured by the English at Bladens- 
burg and Washington in 1814, and although they are the only 
conquests made by British arms upon our soil, still it would be 
better that they were not where they are. The colors of other 
nations, however, adorn the walls, and some of Napoleon's proudest 
banners are exhibited as trophies from Waterloo. The old men 
are well provided for, and appear comfortable. They grumble for 
the want of something else to do, and as their days are short, and 
grumbling is the only thing they are fit for, they are permitted 
to indulge in that to their heart's content. 

The rapid increase of London, and its great extent, are proved 
by the fact that Chelsea Hospital, a few years ago, was out of 
town, while now the city extends considerably beyond it, and 
many of the finest residences in the metropolis are in that neigh- 
borhood. By the last census it appears that London has in- 
creased four hundred and thirteen thousand inhabitants in the 
past ten years. 

This extent is wonderful. From Nottinghill in the west, to 
Bow Common in the east, both of which are suburbs properly, is 
a distance of quite thirteen miles, the entire line of which is 
compactly built with dwellings, stores, churches, and other public 
edifices. Taking the number of miles above mentioned as the 
actual diameter of London, we find that the great city has a 



104 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

circumference of nearly forty miles, whicli is rather below than 
above the real extent. Hammersmith is in fact a portion of the 
metropolis, as well as Highgate or Dalston, and add that to the 
diameter, and it will be found to be full sixteen miles. 

The National G-allery in Trafalgar Square contains some ex- 
quisite pictures, and is peculiarly worthy of examination, as pre- 
senting one of the best collections extant of the works of Rem- 
brandt. Lincoln's Inn, and the Inner Temple, the two celebrated 
legal schools of England, are attractive places. The hall of the 
Temple is adorned with some excellent oak carvings, and several 
old and valuable paintings, among which are portraits of four or 
five of the English monarchs. The Church of the Templars is 
the finest in London. The floors are elegantly inlaid with en- 
caustic tiles, and back of the altar there is a window of splendid 
stained glass. In the body of the building under the dome are 
eight or ten tombs of Crusaders, the figures on which are in ex- 
cellent preservation ; some of them have the legs crossed, thereby 
indicating that the persons to whose memory they were erected 
were engaged in the wars in the Holy Land. 

The excursion down the Thames to Greenwich Hospital, and 
Woolwich Dock Yards and Arsenal, is a pleasant trip, affording an 
opportunity of seeing the river to good advantage. The stream is 
extremely crooked, and multitudes of vessels ride on its waters 
from London down to the sea. Woolwich Dock Yards are large; 
and, as they are one of the most complete stations for constructing 
naval vessels in the empire, they are worthy a lengthened visit. 
The Arsenal is principally filled with heavy guns and ammuni- 
tion, there being comparatively few small-arms there. 

At Woolwich, in one of the churchyards, I noticed a singular 
monument, which curiosity prompted me to examine. It is a 
pedestal surmounted by a colossal figure of a lion, sculptured 
in coarse marble, with one foot on the Champion's belt of Eng- 
land, and the head upraised, to represent the animal howling. 
The main inscription informs the reader that Thomas Crib, the 
boxer, lies under the stone; and below on a tablet is a line, call- 
ing upon the visitor to "Kespect the ashes of the dead." The 
English people are greatly advanced in civilization, when they 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 105 

thus honor such promoters of enlightenment as Tom Crib, the 
brutal prize-fighter. 

Greenwich Hospital may wdth propriety be considered as 
within the pale of London now, as the buildings extend below it 
on both sides of the river. The parks attached to the institu- 
tion are large, and much resorted to by pleasure- seekers. The 
famous observatory stands on an eminence in the park, in the 
rear of the hospital, commanding an extended prospect of the 
country around. 

Hampstead and Highgate, two elevated points to the north of 
London, command extended views of the great city. The dome 
of St. Paul's, when seen from either place, appears to the greatest 
advantage, and every object of interest can be distinctly traced 
during a clear day. It was near Highgate that Whittingtou 
fancied he heard Bow-bells recalling him to the renowned me- 
tropolis; and the spot whereon he stood at the time he listened to 
the mellowed notes of the distant chiming bells is now marked 
with a stone. Visits to such places recall to the mind of the 
traveller the dreams of his boyhood, and when I rested on the 
spot, I readily summoned before my mental sight my ideal form 
of the famous Lord Mayor, as he was when debating whether he 
should obey the summons of the bells and return to London, or not. 

The famous Horse Guards are a regiment of mounted men, 
who appear to be selected more on account of their fine figures 
and military bearing than for their prowess as soldiers. They 
wear a splendid uniform, with helmets of burnished steel, breast- 
plates of the same material, white leather short-clothes, deep 
scarlet-colored coats, high boots, and gauntlets. None of them 
are under six feet, and each fliourishes a formidable mustache. 
They are mounted on fiery black chargers, and when exercising, 
present a magnificently warlike appearance. They are perma- 
nently stationed in London and at Windsor, and usually perform 
the duties of a body-guard, on state occasions, to the sovereign 
and Prince consort. Their quarters are in a building on Parlia- 
ment Street facing AVhitehall, with a thoroughfare leading di- 
rectly into St. James's Park, and at each side of the entrance two 
mounted soldiers keep guard from ten until four o'clock. They 



106 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

are among the attractions of London, and nearly always have a 
crowd of citizens around them when they assemble in numbers 
at their quarters. 

Military parades are frequent in the metropolis, and each morn- 
ing during the week one or more regiments exercise in Hyde Park. 
The men are, generally speaking, fine-looking fellows, clean and 
neat in appearance, and, when drilling, move with the precision 
of senseless machinery. Their showy uniforms, waving banners, 
glittering arms, and harmony of step, go to make up a splendid 
scene, and the stirring strains of their accomplished bands give 
the unmilitary beholder some idea of the pomp and circumstance 
of war. I often witnessed them on parade, and although by no 
means an advocate of that sort of Christian duty which recom- 
mends the cutting of other people's throats for the sake of peace, 
yet I must confess that I derived much pleasure from viewing the 
military displays in Hyde Park. 

The ^^ Royal Mews,'' or Queen's stables, are among the London 
sights, and through the kindness of a friend, I visited them in 
company with some who were, like myself, curious to see her 
Majesty's horses. The royal state carriage was shown us first as 
a great curiosity, which it certainly is. It is large enough for a 
triumphal car, is ornamented with several carved figures of mon- 
sters and foliated scrolls, and covered profusely with gilding. 
"When used, it is drawn by eight of the finest horses in the world, of 
a cream color, and as fiery as the coursers of Phaeton of old. 

The stables are capacious, admirably ventilated, and kept scru- 
pulously clean. The number of animals is about one hundred, all 
of which are in the best possible condition. In one department 
there were sixteen or twenty stallions, one-half of which were 
black, the others cream color, and all seemingly spirited in the 
extreme, though intensely lazy in the open air. On my expressing 
a fear of their running away with her Majesty, the groom said 
there was no danger of that, as they never did so, but lay down 
instead, and when they once did get down were quite indifferent 
about rising until it suited themselves. 

Among those in another section of the building was a splendid 
full-blooded Arabian horse, sent, as a present to Prince Albert, 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 107 

from the East Indies. He is a noble animal, of beautiful figure, 
and possesses all the agility and swiftness of a true oriental 
courser. 

Among the many strange customs which attract the stranger's 
attention in London, not the least remarkable are the funerals. 
They are attended by mutes dressed in black, with long scarfs 
streaming from their hats, and wands wreathed with crape in their 
hands. The hearses are huge affairs, ornamented with waving 
plumes, and drawn by horses black as jet, draped in cloth of the 
same hue. Mourners follow clothed in the robes of grief, and ex- 
hibiting a vast amount of apparent woe; but, when close examina- 
tion is made, it is discovered that the heart-broken and sorrowful 
train is composed of men hired for the occasion, and that there are 
but few, if any, relatives there, it being considered neither fash- 
ionable nor respectable for the kindred to follow the dead to the 
grave. 

Burials are not so frequent in the cities as formerly, and 
although there are too many even now in London, the practice of 
intermural interment is very unpopular. 

The graves in most of the churchyards of the metropolis are 
indiiferently cared for. There is no attention paid to keeping 
them in order. The gravestones are flat, apd serve the double 
purpose of a flagged way and memorials for the dead. Fragments 
of tombstones, with partially defaced inscriptions, lie about the 
yards promiscuously, and are treated with as little respect as the 
memories of those to whom they were erected. 

There is a custom, peculiarly English, which, to my liking, is 
worthy of our imitation, and that is the habit of erecting tablets 
in the churches to the memory of the departed. These tributes 
to worth are usually placed in the walls of the chancel, the aisles, 
or choir of the edifice, and many of them are exquisitely designed 
and sculptured. The inscriptions on the older ones are generally 
prosy and trite, but those of more recent date are brief and pointed. 
The American takes an interest in these records and monuments, 
and I often found myself reading over the epitaphs upon them 
when I should have been attending to the discourse of the clergy- 
man. There is something solemn and appropriate, according to 



108 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

my way of thinking, about tliem, placed where they are : solemn, 
because they remind us that we must die ; and appropriate, be- 
cause the memory of the loved and just should be kept green in 
our hearts when we meet in the temple of God. 

There is scarcely a place of worship in London, Dissenting or 
State, but has some of these memorials attached to its walls ; and 
I was often interested in reading the records upon them. Once, 
while walking along Lombard Street, I observed the door of St. 
Mary Woolnoth open, and as it is one of the old churches, my 
curiosity prompted me to enter, nor did I regret my determination. 
A tablet attracted my attention, and on perusing the inscription, 
I discovered that it was to the memory of John Newton, the 
friend of Cowper. He was for twenty-eight years rector of St. 
Mary's^ and his history, as recorded on the stone, is as follows: — 

"John Newton, clerk, once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves 
in Africa, was, by the rich mercy of ovir Lord and Savioui* Jesus Christ, 
preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the faith he had 
long labored to destroy." 

While speaking of old churches, I may be permitted to give 
some further information here respecting others, before unnoticed. 
There are as many as twelve or fifteen in the vicinity of St. 
Paul's, and each has attractions, either in an architectural or his- 
torical point of view, or both. One of them, called All Hallows, 
is famous as being the baptismal place of Milton, or rather on the 
site of the church in which he was baptized, that edifice being 
destroyed in the great fire. A stone bearing an inscription, set- 
ting forth the facts, and on which is engraved some information 
respecting the birthplace of the poet, is placed in the church 
wall at the corner of the street in which he first saw the light. 
In the same vicinity, but nearer to London Bridge, is St. Swithin's 
London Stone, so named in consequence of a stone, said to be the 
oldest in the metropolis, which is built into the wall facing Can- 
non Street, and so placed as to allow the curious the liberty of 
touching it. It is supposed to be what was once a Roman mile- 
stone, and the throne on which Jack Cade swore that the conduit 
should ^'run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign/' 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 109 

The authorities protect it from nmtilatioD; and the curious rever- 
ence and visit it. 

The " Great Exhibition" is now numbered among the things of 
the pastj but it will be a subject of comment and laudation for ages 
yet to come. During its continuance, London was a miniature 
world, so far as the varieties of the human race are concerned; 
and its increase of population drawn from every part of the 
habitable globe was beyond positive estimate. Hyde Park 
was the grand centre where foreigners then met, and representa- 
tives from almost every land were to be seen there on certain 
occasions. Such a variety of the human family as was then 
assembled in the British metropolis was probably never before 
convened in the world's history, and it was a proud thing for 
Englishmen to reflect that the gathering of the delegates of earth's 
nations in their capital was for purposes of peace, and the advance- 
ment of science and useful manufactures. The assembling of the 
tribes of men on such an occasion was a grand event, and 
its peaceful tendencies will be felt in all climes in coming ages. 
It afforded opportunity for interchange of civilities, on the part of 
the individual members of remote nations, far different from the 
cold, formal commingling of diplomatists and official representa- 
tives, such as take place between peoples through their rulers and 
servants. It was, in truth, a congress of the great family of man, 
where the swarthy Numidian and fair Caucasian; subtle Chinese 
and austere Spaniard; scholastic German and mercurial Frank; 
keen Scot and irascible Hibernian ; embrowned Hindoo and serf- 
born Russian; emancipated Egyptian and thoughtful Turk; Pa- 
cific Islander and wily Savage ; wealth-loving Englishman and 
dauntless, inventive American, met as equals, to exhibit the pro- 
ducts of their genius, their labor, and their climes; and learn to 
know each other, so that the ties which bind our common race 
together might be drawn more tightly by the silver chains of 
peace. 

I was in London a considerable time before I determined upon 
a visit to the then great centre of attraction, the Crystal Palace. 
Vague and undefined idea# of its internal grandeur were 
10 



110 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

created and destroyed in my mind ; but of all the conceptions 
I formed none equalled the reality. The fairy structure was the 
greatest curiosity connected with the display. It was sublime in 
every feature, and gorgeous in its grandeur. Harmony was 
blended in its proportions, and beauty and symmetry in its lines 
and airy form. It possessed magnitude without the power to 
weary; and magnificence with simplicity. The lofty and imposing 
transept was a noble feature of the structure, and the lengthened 
naves died away in perspective like sweet music softly floating 
into distance. 

It would be vain to attempt a detailed description of the great 
attractions of the display. The vast edifice was converted into a 
receptacle of the products of man's ingenuity and skill; and there 
was scarcely an article of elegance and invention known, but was 
represented there. India and China contributed specimens of the 
gorgeous fabrics of the eastern loom; and the far islands of the 
sea sent their manufactures. Egypt, Syria, Persia, Arabia, and 
the once Holy Land, but now the Moslem's home, exhibited the 
skill of their respective peoples in arts and works of beauty. 
Austria showered exquisite gems in profusion before the eye of 
the beholder; and tasteful France spread out lavishly the 
splendid products of her looms, her genius, and her cunning hand. 
Every country in the civilized or half-civilized world displayed its 
manufactures; and the combined collection constituted, in itself, a 
tangible history of the industry, ingenuity, and productive skill 
of man for ages. 

From the hour of admission in the morning until the heavy 
bell proclaimed the time for closing the aisles, the galleries and 
the halls of the spacious edifice were thronged with human beings, 
intent upon the glories of the place, and absorbed in the splendors 
of the display. Seventy, eighty, yes ! even one hundred thousand 
beings were assembled there on one day ; and the noise of their 
voices and movements went up like the roar of the sounding sea. 
Order reigned supreme ; all was peace, all cheerfulness and en- 
tranced attention. The sunlight streamed in subdued rays through 
the crystal vault, and fell sweetly on fabrics rich as gold or of 
Tyrian purple dye. The products of the chisel adorned the aisles 



OR;, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN, 111 

and naves ; and fountains sent up tides of gushing waters. The 
richest works of man were arranged in profusion, and the im- 
mense palace had the appearance of a creation not of earth. 

A view of surpassing grandeur was spread before him who 
gazed down from the transept galleries on the moving mass 
below. The great arch sprang like a silver bow aloft, while the 
symmetrical naves swept softly away into dim distance. Along the 
sides of the galleries, like the gay banners of a countless host, 
hung the most gorgeous and costly products of the loom, and the 
eye feasted on their glorious hues, and took in their beauties; 
and glanced over the busy mass below, mingling and commingling 
in apparent confusion, yet moving and changing without discord, 
or tumultuous sound. Colossal figures in bronze, splendid groups 
in marble, exquisite fountains and classic temples encountered 
the sight in its range, and carried the mind captive with the 
magnitude and sublimity of the display. Viewed from such a 
point, the crystal palace exhibited a scene of unparalleled gran- 
deur, and exceeding splendor, and left its impress indelibly upon 
the soul. Its very magnificence awed the mind, and defied the 
power that would attempt its representation by words ; the paint- 
er's art quailed before it, and when the imitation came from 
his hands, it was but the dead, cold shadow of the once triumph- 
ant and gorgeous reality. 

Such an exhibition of the skill of man was never witnessed be- 
fore, and many cycles must roll on ere another can be accomplish- 
ed. The English people are content with the one, and take the 
glory of its conception and successful termination to themselves, 
fully satisfied with the result, and with the honors it yielded. 

My visits to it were frequent, and always rewarded with 
pleasure. The last time I was there, I lingered until the close 
of the day, and felt reluctant to bid farewell. The great organ 
in the eastern nave was filling the magnificent pile with tides of 
melodious sound, and nearly seventy thousand souls listened to its 
tones. After performing a number of sacred compositions, the 
organist drew from the tubes of his powerful instrument the 
thrilling notes of England's national anthem, ^' God save the 
Queen;" and as the sounds quivered in the air, and began to roll 



112 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

in waves througli the aisles of the vast edifice, the voices of 
seventy thousand human beiugs were blended with them, and rang 
like a wild hallelujah of praise to heaven. Each individual sang 
as if his soul were in the strain, and the enthusiasm of the 
throng heightened the grandeur of the incident, and sublimity of 
the hymn. The chorus ceased with the words, but the sounds 
still waved and rolled through the nave and transept, until, like 
softly beating surges of a subsiding sea on the sandy shore, they 
died in gentle murmurs in the far distance ; and then, as the assem- 
blage departed, darkness and silence resumed their reign. 



CHAPTER IX. 

RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS IN LONDON. 

There are innumerable places in the great city made cele- 
brated for having been the residences of renowned men, and the 
stranger, curious about such things, can frequently employ his time 
advantageously by looking them out. Who that is acquainted with 
English literature would not like to see the spot whereon Will's 
Coffee-House stood, or the walls which sheltered Goldy and the 
other members of the Club ? Some of the old houses have been 
removed long since, but their localities are distinctly marked 
to this day, and there is pleasure in knowing that you have 
been at the precise spot. Button's, and Will's, and Tom's, 
were all near each other, on Russell Street, Covent Garden, 
and I took the trouble to indulge my prying propensities, and 
seek out their celebrated localities. Will's is now a gin-palace, 
and not remarkable either for good liquor or genteel company. 
It is at, or near the corner of Bow Street and Russell Street ; 
but the people in the immediate neighborhood know nothing 
of its former celebrity, nor is the landlord aware that it was 
in time past the most popular resort of great men in London. 
Tom's is the house on the north side of the street, No. 17. 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 113 

At present it is occupied bj a provision-dealer, and he appears to 
know nothing of its history. There are two pedestals over the shop 
front, on one of which is a bust of one of the Roman Emperors 
— the other being vacant. Reference is frequently made to this 
house in the writings of distinguished men in the days of Queen 
Anne, and it was in it that Pope's " Essay on Criticism" was first 
published. On the other side of the street, almost facing the 
house just named, is the site of Button's CofFee-House, once the 
resort of Pope, Addison, Colley Gibber, Ambrose Phillips, and 
others equally distinguished. The house took its name from one 
Button, who had been a servant in the family of the Countess of 
Warwick, and continued to be a resort of the wits of the day 
until Addison's death. It is now scarcely ever looked for, and 
the pork butcher who occupies it cares nothing about its former 
celebrity. Will's, however, was the most famous place of its 
day, and I felt angry to see it converted into a shop for the sale 
of gin and ale by the pennyworth. Great Dryden was wont to 
resort there, and all the bright intellectual stars of his time shone 
brilliantly within those walls ; but now things are changed, and 
low women, grimy sweeps, and coal-dealers drink their *' half-and- 
half" in the desecrated hall of Will's Cofiee-House. The neigh- 
borhood is no longer fashionable as a residence, nor does the 
world-renowned Covent Garden Theatre attract large audiences 
at this time. It is called the Italian Opera, and no longer echoes 
to the plays of Shakspeare or his celebrated followers. 

New Bond Street was once the great fashionable residence, and 
it was at Long's Hotel, in that street, that Byron and Scott met 
for the last time. Moore and his friend, the author of ^' Childe 
Harold," used to dine frequently at Stevens's Hotel, in the same 
thoroughfare, and as both houses are still standing I had the cu- 
riosity to look them out. Old Bond Street is still more celebrat- 
ed than its modern namesake, it having been the place in which 
many of the distinguished of former days resided. 

Sterne, the author of " Tristram Shandy," lived and died in that 
street, at what was called in his day ^' The Silk-Bag Shop." The 
house is now in the occupancy of a cheesemonger, who spurns a 
knowledge either of the immoral parson or his works. If my memory 

J0f= 



114 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

serves me correctly, it was in Old Bond Street tliat Boswell lived 
■when he gave a supper to Jolinson and others of the Club, at 
which Goldsmith made his appearance in the famous blossom- 
colored coat his biographers tell us about. The house is not 
known, and I found it useless to hunt the locality. These re- 
marks call to mind a visit I made to the graveyard of Temple 
Church, off Fleet Street, near Temple Bar. Goldsmith was buried 
there in a common grave ; but, as there was no stone raised upon 
the spot, his last resting-place is unknown. Others, total strangers 
to fame, lie around, and lengthy inscriptions on the slabs which 
cover their tombs record who rest below; but the man, who was 
really great and good, sleeps the endless sleep in the heart of 
a great city, and not one can point out the place of his grave. 
Many seek it, but none find ! The honorary tomb in West- 
minster Abbey is a mockery, when one is made acquainted with 
these facts. Some admirers of the bard have placed a beautiful 
marble tribute to his memory, in the vestry of Temple Church, 
on which is engraved the following : — 

This Tablet, 
recording that 
Oliver Goldsmith 
Died in the Temple on the 4th of April, 1774, 
and was buried in the adjoining- 
churchyard, 
was erected by the Benchers 
of the 
Hon. Society of the Inner Temple, 
A. J). 1837. 

This is something for poor Goldy, and although none can tell 
his last resting-place, the pilgrim from distant lands can see 
that his memory is cherished by those who dwell near his for- 
gotten grave ! The poet lived and died in the building No. 2, 
Brick Court, Middle Temple, near by his last resting-place ; and 
immediately under the rooms he occupied, lived Sir W3i. Black- 
stone, the great lawyer. I went into the house and looked 
around, but saw nothing worthy of remark, It is secluded 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 115 

and quiet, all things considered, but not much can be said 
in favor of its inhabitants, as they are principally undistinguished 
lawyers of the London Bar. 

When I first visited the metropolis, I hunted out the habita- 
tion in which poor Chatterton committed suicide. It is No. 4, 
Brook Street, and at present occupied as a furniture warehouse. 

The house is old and much decayed, and is to be torn down 
soon, and then the last visible thing connected with the brief 
London residence of the proud boy bard will be swept away for- 
ever. He was buried in a shell in Shoe Lane workhouse yard; 
but, as no one had any sympathy for him at the time of his 
death, his grave was unmarked. From what I can learn, the 
Farringdon Market now occupies the former site of the pauper 
burial-ground, and the ashes of the greatest genius that England 
ever gave birth to mingle with their mother earth in a market- 
place. That literary knave and charlatan, Horace Walpole, is 
not unjustly charged with Chatterton's untimely and horrible 
end. If he had acted the part of a man, the world would never 
have had to mourn the sad fate of the Bristol boy. Shoe Lane 
is a filthy place, and famous for its connection with genius. 
Savage, the poet, was born in it ; Lovelace died there in miserable 
lodgings, in a court, still in existence, called Gunpowder Alley ; 
and there Chatterton was crammed into a pauper's grave, without 
the rites of Christian burial. The vicinity is not less famous, 
but I am^ happy to say less filthy. St. Bride's Church is close at 
hand, and by paying a small fee I was enabled to visit it. The 
sexton pointed out the tomb of Eichardson the printer, the 
author of " Clarissa Harlowe." I was glad to meet with a man of 
some intelligence, and more pleased to find Richardson's resting- 
place. The slab covering the tomb is half hidden by a pew, but 
still it can be seen. '' Clarissa" was the first novel worthy of the 
name I ever read, and I distinctly recollect stealing out of a clear 
bright moonlight night, and perusing it by the light of Cynthia's 
beams, after having been threatened with a flogging if I did not 
lay it aside. The large type in which it was printed was easily 
traced by my young eyes, although the moon was all the light I had. 
I read eagerly; no one ever took more interest in the fate of an 
imaginary heroine than I did at that time in'the fortunes of vir- 



116 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

tuous Clarissa Harlowe. She was my heau ideal of a woman, 
and though years have passed since then, my mind will never 
lose the image of the fair young girl. I thought she was at my 
side, as I stood in the sacred place, looking mournfully upon the 
grave of him from whose brain she sprung. 

A short distance further down Fleet Street, towards the 
Strand, is the famous Mitre Tavern, once the resort of Dr. John- 
son and Goldsmith. It is in a court of the same name ; and 
the present landlord is well acquainted with the history of his 
domicile. I sauntered in there at a rather late hour one even- 
ing, and ordered a cup of coffee and a roll. The waiter looked 
at me scrutinizingly, and told me that it would be eighteen pence. 
*' Only eighteen pence? I thought it was three shillings,'' said 
I. The fellow looked abashed, and stammered out an apology, 
and finished by asking my pardon. ^'For,'' said he, "many 
persons come in here, and not being acquainted with our prices, 
consider themselves imposed on when called upon to settle." I 
remained for some time, and was shown the warm corner, once 
the favorite resting-place of the great moralist. It is in the coffee- 
room, and a fine copy of Nollekin's bust of the essayist is imme- 
diately over the spot. I felt perfectly at ease in the presence of 
the Doctor's sculptured representative, and almost suspected that 
his spirit haunted the old inn, everything looked so cosy and 
comfortable. One of the oldest literary clubs of London formerly 
dined at the Mitre, but they discontinued resorting to it in 1847, 
and now assemble at the Free Mason's Tavern in Great Queen 
Street. 

Still further down, on the opposite side of the way, is Bolt 
Court, the last residence of Johnson, and the place where he 
died. I believe the house in which he dwelt was destroyed by fire 
some years ago; but be that as it may, there is a tavern in the alley 
at present called after the lexicographer, and every night sees it 
thronged with visitors, who go there to hear songs and recitations. 
The passage is rather narrow, and does not appear to have been 
wide enough to have allowed a man so bulky as Johnson ingress 
or egress without a gentle squeeze. The place is classic, and 
worth a visit, for it was in that court that Goldsmith, Burke, and 
Reynolds frequently assembled and enjoyed their mental feasts. 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 117 

In going up it at night, one hurries through, fearful lest he should 
encounter the Doctor in the act of bowing his distinguished com- 
panions to the street, and be wedged in between the walls and 
his great body. 

The site of the world-renowned Fleet prison is on Farringdon 
Street, but not a vestige of the once living tomb remains. Like 
those it held captive, it has passed away, and the stranger 
looks in vain for a single relic of a building within whose walls 
men of genius found a temporary retreat from the clamors of 
persevering creditors. What a long catalogue of great names the 
bare mention of that place calls to mind ! There Dr. Donne was 
imprisoned; and Wycherley, the poet, was incarcerated in the 
Fleet for seven years ; and Lloyd, the friend of Churchill ; and 
Mrs. Thomas (Curll's ^^Corinna") died there, as well as a host of 
others equally celebrated. Even William Penn was once a pri- 
soner in the famous place, and that for being guilty of owing a 
few pounds. Poverty is a crime even at this day ! 

Lord George Gordon's riots caused a deal of harm in London 
at the time of their occurrence ; but now no one thinks of them. 
The Fleet was burned then, if I recollect rightly, and Newgate 
with it. The mob tore down the house of the great Lord Mans- 
field, in Bloomsbury Square, and burnt his library, or as much of 
it as was not accidentally saved from the flames. I visited the 
spot frequently ; but there are no evidences there at this time of 
arson and pillage. The house is at the northeast end of the 
square, and in a pleasant section of the west end of the town. 
D'Israeli lived in the same street, and the house in which he com- 
piled his " Curiosities of Literature'^ is standing to this day. Other 
disturbances of a less serious character than the Gordon out- 
break, however, took place in the same vicinity in after years, 
and not the least remarkable was the visit of the 0. P. rioters to 
the house of John Philip Kemble, in Great Russel Street, 
Bloomsbury Square, before which they sang the popular song of 
"Heigh-ho,'' written by Horace Smith, of Eejected Addresses 
celebrity. The dwelling was torn down a few years since, to make 
room for the additions to the British Museum ; but the spot is 
pointed out to the curious yet. 



118 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

While on the subject of riots, I may as well mention Apsley 
House, the town residence of the Duke of Wellington, as it still 
bears some marks of the effects of the great Keform disturbances. 
The hero had the lower windows closed up with iron blinds since 
that time, to prevent a recurrence of the outrages committed then 
by a London mob, and the house looks at those points like a prison. 
Many persons wonder what is meant by the iron screens, and can- 
not imagine why they are in their present position ; while others, 
who are acquainted with the causes which placed them there, say 
nothing, but feel keenly the silent rebuke — for they were evidently 
put there by the Duke to commemorate the visit of gratitude paid 
him by his countrymen. 

On the Southwark side of the river are several places of note, 
not the least remarkable of which is the Tabard Inn, famous for 
being the place in which Chaucer assembled his Canterbury pil- 
grims. The house is still in existence as an inn, and the stranger 
can enjoy a glass of ale there as well as at any other old place in 
London. The entrance is through an arch, which leads into a 
court-yard, once gay with travellers and visitors to the now com- 
paratively deserted hostelrie. I have sl penchant for hunting out 
these embalmed places (for such they are), and take pleasure in 
passing a short time within their sacred precincts. I feel as if trans- 
ported back to a bygone age, and imagine around me the bearded 
men of earlier times^ as I sit quietly gazing around upon the 
famous walls. 

But a short distance from the inn noticed above, is St. Saviour's 
Church, Southwark, one of the oldest ecclesiastical edifices in the 
metropolis. It is irregularly built, and a new wing does not add 
either to the beauty or architectural proportions of the structure. 
The older parts are in the early English style, and, next to West- 
minster Abbey, are considered the best specimens of that order 
in London. The monuments in the Lady chapel are numerous, 
and some of them curiosities. Probably the most interesting 
fact connected with the place is that it contains the tomb of Edmund 
Shakspeare, player, brother of the great bard of Avon. The spot 
pointed out is not clearly identified, but sufficient is known to 
warrant the assertion that such a person lies buried in the church. 



119 

He was the poet's youngest brother, and according to the parish 
register was interred December 31, 1G07. Who ever thought 
Shakspeare had a brother? Surely, not one in a hundred thousand 
of his readers. But he had, and his remains turned to dust years 
ago under the paved floor of St. Saviour's, Southwark. Philip 
Massinger, the fine dramatist, and forerunner of Soulful Will, 
is buried in the churchyard ; but there is no stone to mark the 
place, nor is it an easy matter to learn the whereabout of the 
grave. John Fletcher (of Beaumont and Fletcher) is interred in 
the chancel, and old Gower, the poet, has both a monument and 
a grave in the same building. He was of what is called a noble 
family, and consequently his tomb is kept in repair. 

Doctors Commons, where all wills made in the District of Can- 
terbury are recorded, is located to the south of Saint Paul's, in a 
narrow street near the Thames. This celebrated legal quarter is 
much resorted to by anxious heirs and those who are curious as to 
the legacies of deceased persons. The last testaments of some of 
England's greatest men are there in their original forms, among 
which may be named those of Shakspeare, Cromwell, and Dr. 
Johnson. The will of Napoleon also adorns the place, and it is 
said to contain a clause bequeathing 10,000 francs to the man 
who attempted the assassination of the Duke of Wellington, in 
Paris. Persons desirous to learn any particulars respecting the 
will of a deceased individual have every facility afforded them in 
the search by paying a shilling to the officer in attendance, who 
gives the applicant a slip of paper which, by being handed to 
another official, secures to the searcher the privilege of examining 
the records, but no one is allowed to make a memorandum without 
additional pay. The names of the persons who have died in the 
district, and left property by testament, are enrolled in parchment 
books, with the day and year of decease, as is customary in such 
places. Copies of the wills, written in Old English, are kept for 
examination, and arranged with great precision. If a person 
desires to see the originals, he can do so by paying an additional 
shilling. I went with a friend to search for a will, and after a 
laborious hunt found what we sought. The clerk recognized me 
as an American, and endeavored to enter into a conversation with 



120 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ) 

me respecting my countrymen, and what he was pleased to call 
their uncharitable prejudice against England. I evaded his ques- 
tion, and excused myself to attend to the business on which we 
came. 

Newgate Prison, on the old Bailey, is a sombre, repulsive struc- 
ture, by no means calculated to win one's admiration; and would, 
aside from the suffering, wretchedness, and crime connected 
with it, claim the stranger's attention ; but, when viewed as 
the great criminal prison of London, it calls to mind the whole 
catalogue of celebrated felons who have, at various times, suf- 
fered the penalty of violated law there. Immediately in front 
of the main door, in the curbstone, are two sockets, into which 
are inserted iron uprights for the support of the scaffolds used at 
executions ; and around, for a considerable space, is the ground 
occupied, at times of strangling, by the humane who love to see 
their fellows die like dogs. It was there that Fauntleroy was 
hung, and there public executions take place at this day. 

On the corner, diagonally opposite, stands St. Sepulchre's 
Church, a fine old Gothic edifice, remarkable for being the place 
in#hich prayers are offered up for criminals about to suffer death 
at the jail. The bells are toiled when an execution takes place, 
in conformity to the will of a parishioner, who died in 1605, and 
bequeathed the sum of £1 6s. 8d. to the clerk for such service on 
such an occasion forever. The interior is quite imposing, and, as 
the principal entrance is through an arched way under the tower, 
the visitor is impressed with the sanctity of the fane immediately 
on going within. Probably the objects of greatest interest to the 
American in the shrine are the grave and tombstone of Captain 
John Smith, whose adventures and sufferings are so intimately 
connected with the early history of eastern Virginia. The slab 
is pointed out, but the inscription is obliterated, and the only 
portion of the sculpture visible is the representation of three 
Turks' heads. The record was in verse, and some copies of it 
are in existence, but I was unable to procure one. The recipient 
of the intervention of Pocahontas is seldom thought of now; and 
I was told by the sexton, who had been in the place a considerable 
time, that but a single Virginian, to his knowledge, had visited 



OR;, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 121 

the tomb of the romantic adventurer^ in St, Sepulchre's^ in thirty 
years. 

Fault-finding is a favorite pastime of travellers ; and it rarely 
occurs that we find one who does not quarrel with almost 
everything he sees in a foreign land. Scarcely any object 
is worth his praise, and nothing escapes his censure. Men who 
go abroad generally view the countries through which they pass 
through the lenses with which they have been taught to survey 
their native lands, and seldom reflect that the persons with whom 
they are sojourning are educated, and live under governments 
essentially difi'erent from those under which they have been reared 
and instructed. The Englishman in the United States discovers 
nothing but insolence and vulgarity among the inhabitants, and 
never reflects that the faults he notices exist more in his own 
imagination than in reality; while the American, who goes to 
England, usually measures everything in climate and manners 
by his own standard, and concludes that the islanders are arro- 
gant, pompous, and vainglorious, or so brutally illiterate and igno- 
rant as to bo unfit to associate with intelligent men. Both arc 
wrong, and both should reflect more, and not come to rash or 
unjust conclusions. We should always make allowance for the 
effects of early education and the institutions under which people 
are born and live; and not condemn and denounce, because, for- 
sooth, things do not suit our peculiar notions of propriety or right. 
The first few weeks an American spends in London are not 
agreeable. He complains of the atmosphere — ridicules the stiff- 
ness of the people's manners — finds fiiult with the apparent checks 
to personal independence, and entertains a dislike for almost every- 
thing. A month or two makes a change in his views and ways 
of thinking. By that time he is reconciled to some extent, and 
sees beauties where before he observed defects, and sociability 
where he thought there was nothing but selfishness and cold in- 
diff"erence to strangers. John Bull has become a respectable old 
fellow in Jonathan's estimation, then, and as the two open their 
minds to each other, they agree, after comparing notes, that Eng- 
land and America are the only great nations on earth. 

The change in the policy of the government since the days of 
11 



122 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

George the Third, respecting the expression of opinion, is re- 
markable; and I was on one particular occasion greatly astonished 
to hear a public lecturer condemning, in language far from choice, 
the entire system under which he lives. His remarks were prin- 
cipally directed against the abuses of the Established Church, and 
the rapacity of the bishops, as then just revealed by a committee 
of examination appointed by the House of Commons to report 
upon certain alleged misdoings of the Fathers. His audience was 
composed principally of workingmen, and he gave them a portion 
of the real history of England, and mentioned some startling facts 
connected with the establishment of the State Church. He was 
particularly severe on the bishops, and said that "seventy thousand 
persons suffered by fagot and flame in the reign of Henry the 
Eighth, because they dared differ with them; and in Elizabeth's 
reign things were equally bad. Bishops at this day are no better 
than they were then, and they would commit the same atrocities 
now that they did in those ages, if they only dared." As an 
evidence of their avariciousness and falsehood, he mentioned the 
extortions they were guilty of in the last seven years, and the 
enormous salaries they are entitled to. In 1837, the bishops had 
their salaries fixed bylaw, according to the see, varying from £4000 
to £15,000 per annum. These were the sums they declared on 
oath would be sufficient for their support, and now it was shown 
that in seven years they had received, over and above these 
amounts, the enormous total of £80,000, or about 400,000 dol- 
lars, and not one farthing of it would they return. The lecturer 
asked whether, if any of those present had robbed so largely, 
they would be permitted to go at liberty? "No I" said he; "but 
you or I, had we done so, would have been in the Old Bailey long 
ere this, and by this time would be crossing the wild waters in 
chains to a penal colony, as felons." 

He spoke of some of the early English monarchs as they de- 
serve. The lives of Charles the First and James the Second were 
hastily but properly reviewed, and the conduct of the English 
bishops in the reign of the last-named sovereign carefully ana- 
lyzed. The doctrines of non-resistance, and the sacredness of his 
majesty's person, as taught by them so long as it suited their 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 123 

purposes to give adberence to such points of policy, were exposed 
in masterly style; "and," said he, "the seven bishops are called 
by historians the preservers of English liberty on account of 
their conduct at the abdication of James the Second, and why? 
Because they crushed the democracy, by usurping to themselves 
the kingly power. It would have been better for England had 
James been allowed to continue his violations of law longer, for 
then the people would have arisen and swept away kings and 
royalty forever!" Cheers greeted him on this declaration, 
although it was Sunday evening, and I began to think I was in 
bad company, and would soon be under the care of her Majesty's 
guardians of the peace for being in a congregation of Sabbath- 
breakers. I turned my eyes to the door in anticipation of seeing 
a posse of police officers entering, but none made their appear- 
ance. "Well," thought I, "there's more freedom of speech here 
than was allowed twenty years ago, or history greatly belies even 
■\Villiam the Fourth." 

The lecturer is an educated man — a lawyer by the name of 
Ernest Jones. He was imprisoned by the government for a 
speech at a Chartist meeting, in 1848, and during his confine- 
ment is said to have been treated with great inhumanity. For 
two years he was incarcerated in Tothillfields prison, among the 
vilest criminals; and for a long time was obliged to live in a damp, 
unhealthy cell, where he was placed with the evident intention of 
destroying his life. The class of people he is identified with are 
intelligent, but not very religious. They have a number of lec- 
turers among them, the most of whom are clever men, not one of 
whom has escaped the dislike of the government, or imprison- 
ment for inflammatory speeches at Chartist and other meetings. 
Thomas Cooper, one of their leading lecturers, is a remarkable 
person, and a most decided disbeliever in Christianity, as in fact 
are all. The class to which they belong is large and daily in- 
creasing, from what I could learn; and if they were to let religion 
alone, and direct their energies to the reform of abuses in the po- 
litical system of England, would, no doubt, effect much good; but 
so long as they continue as they are, must fail to do anything 



124 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

more than bring themselves into disrepute with all classes of 
Christians, professing and unprofessing. 

The government allows them great latitude at present, but, at 
the same time, keeps itself well informed as to their movements. 

The English anti-slavery societies are very much impressed 
with the wretched condition of the slaves in our Southern States, 
but, like many other philanthropists, they have a wonderful sym- 
pathy for suffering at a distance, but cannot see that at their own 
doors. They expend thousands annually in disseminating their 
doctrines, and in keeping their philanthropy before the world, and 
think themselves charitable in the extreme. A meeting was held 
by one of them while I was in the metropolis, and, during the 
day, a number of old and young men were employed in carrying 
heavy boards through the streets, on which were pasted flaming 
bills, printed with large letters, calling upon the humane to assem- 
ble in their strength, and express their opinions against " the in- 
famous system of American slavery V 

I met one of the walking ambassadors, an old decrepit man, 
with scarcely sufficient clothing to cover his nakedness, perambu- 
lating the streets, and sweating under a pair of heavy placarded 
boards, almost enough to crush him. His condition was forlorn, 
in truth, and I entered into conversation with him respecting the 
pay for being thus employed. 

"I don't know," said he, " how much I will get until I go in 
this evening.'^ 

"The people who employ you have plenty of money, no doubt, 
and will remunerate you liberally," I interrogated. " They are 
very good, are they not ?" 

"None of them have ever been to me, and I can't say whether 
they are to others or not." 

" How much will they give you for carrying those boards about 
all day?" 

"I expect eighteen pence; but I may not get so much.'^ 

" How many hours do you work ?" 

"Ten or more," he replied; and on further inquiry I learned 
that the old man was dinnerless that day, and those in whose em- 
ploy he was could not help but know it. 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 125 

This is a bappy commentary upon the benevolence and sympa- 
thy of the anti-slavery societies of England, and their practical 
philanthropy. 

A few evenings after this, I was on London Bridge, where I 
met with a decent yellow man, from Philadelphia, who was almost 
naked, and without shoes. I asked him where he was from, and 
he immediately told me. When he learned that I was from the 
same place, he was greatly delighted, and freely narrated his hard- 
ships. He went to London in a merchant-ship, and foolishly left 
it under the impression that he would readily find employment, 
but soon learned, to his sorrow, that he had made a mistake. No 
one would give him work or money. His clothes were all gone ; 
he had not slept in a bed for five nights, and had no food that day. 
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he related his sufferings to me, 
and I deeply sympathized with him. He was an intelligent man, 
and, I believe, told the truth. I gave him sufficient money for 
his supper, breakfast, and night's lodgings, and promised to meet 
him the next day, which I did. He was punctual to the time 
appointed, and I gave him a pair of pantaloons to cover his naked- 
ness. He was unfeignedly grateful, and told me that he would 
make every exertion to get back to the United States ; and if he 
succeeded, no one would ever catch him in England again. He 
had no seaman's protection with him, having lost it while ram- 
bling about the city, and, therefore, had no claim on the Ameri- 
can consul. How he made out, I never learned, as I never saw 
him again. 

Windsor Palace is renowned, the world over, for being the re- 
sidence of the Kings of England, and a visit to it is regarded a 
duty by the stranger in London. The ancient structure is about 
twenty-one miles from the metropolis, in Berkshire, on the 
Thames, situate on a commanding eminence, and presents a noble 
sight, view it from what point you may. Its many towers, its 
massive walls, its great extent, and solid Gothic grandeur, impress 
the beholder and carry him back, in thought, to the days of chiv- 
alry and civil wars. It was founded by William the Conqueror, 
and, like the old Norman hero, frowns down on all around it, sternly 
and unflinchingly. It is likely that no castle in Europe pre- 

11* 



126 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j 

serves its ancient glories so well as Windsor, and none is more 
princely or magnificent. The terrace around it, facing the Thames, 
and overlooking the valley of that stream, as well as the town be- 
low, and the famous Eton College, is considered the finest in the 
Old World. Above it rise the sentinel towers and massive walls, 
while before you stretches out the splendid promenade. House- 
hold troops, in the gaudy uniform of the English army, keep 
guard at certain points along the space, and heavy guns frown 
from the battlements. The proud pile is of great magnitude, and 
perched, as it is, on a bold highland, it soars grandly up with its 
numerous towers and splendid terraces. The interior is in charac- 
ter with the extent of the place, and sufficiently gorgeous in orna- 
ment and decorations for the residence of a monarch. My com- 
panions and self were admitted on presentation of our tickets to 
the servant in attendance, and conducted through the principal 
state apartments. The rooms are grand and lofty, hung with 
tapestry and paintings, and adorned with sculpture. One of 
them is named after Vandyke, the great Flemish artist, and con- 
tains some of his masterpieces. Charles the First is boldly set 
forth, in various attitudes, and each and every picture of him ex- 
hibits the same pensive face given him by all artists. His ma- 
jesty will go down to the latest posterity, surely, if pictures will 
carry any man there. 

The departments are so numerous that one tires of them ; and 
as they are all grand, a general description of one is sufficient for 
all. The presence chamber is, probably, the most attractive, be- 
cause of the ornament and decoration. The walls are hung with 
splendid tapestry, illustrative of scriptural subjects, the furniture 
richly gilt, the chairs and sofas covered with red damask velvet, 
and the ceiling painted superbly by Yerrio. The Waterloo room 
is hung around with the portraits of many distinguished men, 
whose names are intimately connected with the great event from 
which it takes its name; and St. George's Hall is decorated with 
the portraits of nearly all the English kings, with cross-spears, 
helmets, and shields on the walls between the pictures. The 
mast of the line-of-battle ship Victory, on whose deck Nelson fell, 
is among the most valued wonders of a particular hall ; and at the 



OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 127 

head of a magnificent staircase leading into the audience chamber 
stands Chantrey's splendid statue of George the Fourth. 

The visitor, unless he has a taste that way, seldom remains long 
to admire extensive rooms and costly decorations, but is soon 
satisfied with regal splendors. "VVe made a hasty circuit of the 
state apartments, and visited the famous round tower of the 
palace, and St. George's Chapel. The sacred edifice is a fine speci- 
men of Gothic architecture, with a splendid choir, lofty nave, and 
several costly monuments to persons of distinction, the most at- 
tractive of which is that to the Princess Charlotte. 

As we were standing in the eastern wing of the edifice, the 
guide informed us that beneath our feet were the remains of Ed- 
ward IV". and his Queen; of Henry YL, Henry VHI., and Jane 
Seymour; and those of Charles the First. The bare mention of 
their names called to mind a flood of great events connected with 
the history of the past, and a strange feeling came over me when 
I realized the truth that I was standing over the ashes of these 
monarchs. Harry the Eighth under my feet ! Yes ! and dead at that ! 

The river at the town of Windsor is a pure, quiet stream, some 
thirty yards wide, and flows through a rich valley of great loveli- 
ness. Eton College is close to the palace, and that renowned seat 
of learning is in full view from the terrace. The park around 
Windsor contains thousands of acres of land, and within its limits 
is the artificial hike, known as Yirginia Water, formed for the 
gratification of Queen Elizabeth. Heme's Oak, immortalized by 
Shakspeare, is one of the great curiosities of the park, and much 
resorted to by tourists. About two miles below Windsor, on the 
Thames, is the village of Datchet, the spot at which the merry 
roysterers plunged Sir John Falstafl" into the river, as he asserted, 
with as little mercy as they would a batch of blind puppies. 

We remained some hours at the kingly castle, and then 
slowly wended our way to Slough, and thence across fields 
by quiet footpaths to Stoke Pogis Church, the scene of 
Gray's immortal " Elegy in a Country Churchyard," where repose 
the remains of the great classic poet. The spot is one of the 
most secluded in the world, and the old church, with its spire point- 
ing to heaven, and its ivy-covered walls, presents a picture that 



128 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

no artist could resist sketchingj aside from its hallowed associa- 
tions. A marble slab, with an inscription to the memory of Glray, 
is placed in the wall at the east end of the church, immediately 
in front of the tomb wherein the remains of himself and his 
mother repose. 

A monument to the memory of the bard was erected in the 
latter part of the last century, on an elevated piece of ground, a 
short distance from his grave, on the spot where he is supposed 
to have written his Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College. 
That ancient seat of learning is in full view from the point, and 
the lofty turrets of Windsor form a grand feature in the landscape. 
On each side of the cenotaph, extracts from his poems are en- 
graved, and a double charm is given to the selection by the scenes 
and surrounding localities. 

The church of Stoke Pogis is irregularly built, and remarkably 
picturesque in appearance. The interior is adorned with tablets 
to the memory of the deceased gentry of the neighborhood, and the 
coats of arms of several families embellish the walls. The 
escutcheon of the Penns stands conspicuous among them, and the 
word " Pennsylvania" is the only motto it bears. One of my 
companions and myself belong by birth to that State, and it was 
a surprise to us to see heraldry added to the name of William 
Penn. His descendants abandoned the religious creed of their 
illustrious relative many years ago, and for several generations 
past have been connected with the Established Church of Eng- 
land. One of them is buried in Stoke Pogis Church, but no 
monument or record, excepting the '^ pomp of heraldry'^ alluded 
to, marks the tomb. We passed several hours in rural enjoyment 
at this peaceful place, among the osier-swathed graves and rustic 
tombs, and at the close of a delightful summer day returned to 
London, to mingle in the roar and life of the great city. 



WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 129 



CHAPTER X. 

LONDON TO OXFORD AND STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. 

After a prolonged stay, I left London at an early hour in the 
morning, in a drenching rain, and rode through the streets of the 
city on an omnibus, from St. Paul's down Ludgate Hill, Fleet 
Street, and the Strand, to the station of the Great Western Rail- 
way at Paddington. By the time the coach reached its destina- 
tion, I was quite wet, and as the storm continued unabated all 
day, there was but little opportunity afforded for enjoying the old 
and remarkable in cities, or the beautiful in the country. My 
fellow-passengers were ignorant and stupid, and their conversation 
was senseless and unprofitable. One of them was an English 
sailor, who pretended to be as great a navigator as Captain Cook, 
and talked about himself and his travels almost constantly, and 
without solicitation. A servant girl from London, on a trip to 
her parents in Wales, won his admiration, and she, no doubt, 
loved him before the journey ended, for the same reason that 
Desderaona did Othello — the hardships he said he had suffered — 
for she evidently believed his fables, and falsify he did most out- 
rageously. 

I left the train at Didcot, and, after a short ride, arrived at the 
celebrated city of Oxford, the great English seat of learning. 
This ancient place has a solid Gothic appearance, quite pleasing to 
an American. The colleges are numerous, and as most of them 
are large and highly ornamented edifices, the visitor finds much 
to examine and admire. Christ Church is the largest, and owes 
its origin to Cardinal Wolsey. It is a quadrangle, with a high 
tower over the gateway, in which hangs an enormous bell, which 
gives name to that structure. The picture-gallery is accessible to 
visitors on payment of a shilling, and as my curiosity prompted 
me to see what was worth looking at, I paid the fee, and examined 



130 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

tlie paintings and library. Some of the pictures are glorious spe- 
cimens of art, and the collection may not improperly be called one 
of the most valuable and complete of the old masters in England. 
The entrance hall is adorned with busts of distinguished men who 
have at various times been connected with the institution, among 
which is one of Dr. Busby, the renowned " whipping master/^ as 
he was popularly called in olden times. " A great man/' said 
the knight, throwing his hand toward the tomb of Dr. Busby, " a 
very great man; he flogged my grandfather once," is a passage in 
the Spectator, and if greatness consists in beating people, why not 
award praise to the pedagogue as well as the general ? 

The library hall is a large room, around the walls of which are 
vast numbers of valuable works, both in print and manuscript. 
The floors are of oak, and at one end is a chair, said to have been 
the property of Cardinal Wolsey. The architecture of the inte- 
rior does not present any remarkable feature, and no man can gain 
much information by glancing an half hour at a large collection of 
books. From this edifice I wended my way to the Bodleian Li- 
brary, one of the largest and most valuable in England. The 
rooms are spacious, and contain, besides the books, pictures and 
sculpturg. There is a hall in the same building, under the library, 
in which Charles the First assembled his lords during the civil 
wars, and which Cromwell afterwards turned to a better use by 
converting it into a stable for his horses. His troops broke the 
stained glass in the windows, and did much injury to the building; 
but, excepting the colored lights, everything has been restored to 
its former condition. The floors are of oak, and the ceiling of 
stone, groined and arched. The adjoining rooms are used for con- 
ferring degrees, and for schools. They are remarkably plain, both 
as respects furniture and architecture, and are better suited to a 
log school-house in the West than the celebrated University of 
Oxford. The other colleges are spacious buildings, quite cele- 
brated in their way, but not really handsome. The Kadcliffe Li- 
brary is a circular edifice, with some pretensions to architectural 
splendor, but worthy a visit mainly on account of the view of Ox- 
ford to be obtained from the top. The city from this point looks 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 181 

very fine. The whole town appears to consist of extensive build- 
ings of great age, with towers and domes and tapering spires. 

There is a fine Gothic cross to the memory of the three bishops, 
Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, who were burnt at Oxford, during 
the reign of Queen Mary. It is erected on the spot where the 
burning is said to have taken place, and is really an interesting 
object to visitors. The inscription is in modern church text, and 
sets forth in florid language the sufferings of those who died for 
religion's and opinion's sake. It is popularly called the Martyr's 
Memorial. 

As my visit was made during the vacation months at the uni- 
versities, there were but few students then at Oxford. Those I 
met were present for the purpose of casting their votes in an elec- 
tion connected with a place to which numbers were eligible. They 
wore a long black gown, similar to those of the English clergy, 
and a cap with a square top of the same color made to fit the 
head closely. Some of them were mere boys, while others had 
attained to years of manhood. I visited every college in the 
city, and strolled leisurely through a beautiful arbor in the grounds 
attached to Magdalene College, renowned the world over as " Ad- 
dison's Walk," and after a pleasant stay set out on my journey to 
the ancient town of 13anbury, distant from Oxford about twenty- 
five miles. 

"To Banbury I came, profane one! 
Where I saw a Puritane one, 
Hanging of his cat on a Monday, 
For catching of a mouse on a Sunday!" 

These lines rang in my ears for some time before my entrance 
into the famous place. But the days of the Puritans are past, 
and if Banbury ever did witness such a sight as described by the 
poet traveller, it certainly did not do so the evening on which I 
first entered its old thoroughfares. I trudged slowly along its 
streets with my knapsack on my arm, " the observed of all ob- 
servers," and not being very desirous of so much notice, I soon 
made my way to an inn. It was externally a forbidding house; 
but a man must not take the outside of an English village tavern 
as an evidence of its internal arrangements, as I have learned from 



132 THE FOOTrATII AND HIGmVAY ; 

frequent lessons. The " Red Lion'' turned out to be a well-fur- 
nished and admirably kept hotel. The floors and stairs were car- 
peted, the beds curtained, and the sleeping-rooms clean and in- 
viting. I was disappointed, and expected to pay for the extras of 
the room, and made up my mind accordingly; but in this I was 
mistaken; my bill, all told, for supper, bed, breakfast, and the ex- 
tortion of servants' fees, was three shillings and seven pence, or 
less than ninety cents. 

Banbury is a quiet place, with but little trade and not much 
intelligence. Some of the streets are wide, while others are quite 
narrow, and all are abominably crooked. Although Stratford-on 
Avon is only twenty miles from it, I was obliged to ask a dozen 
persons without meeting one who was able to tell me which road 
to take to that place. An old man whom I asked hesitated, and 
began to tax his memory, when I ventured to aid him by remind- 
ing him it was the town in which Shakspeare was born and buried. 
" yes," said his wife, who was standing by, ^' I read it in the 
newspapers not long ago that he is buried there, but we don't 
know where it is." I left them, perfectly content with their ac- 
quirements; and as they were publicans, and likely to be some- 
what intelligent, I made no further inquiry, and relied solely upon 
my own geographical knowledge of the country. Wraxton Abbey 
is on the road, and as that lies near to Banbury, I learned its lo- 
cality, and made my way to its walls. The day rose beautifully, 
and after a cold, cheerless rain of twenty-four hours' duration, the 
sun was a welcome visitor. I turned off the road, and on making 
application at the abbey gate for admittance, was informed that 
the person having charge of the building was not in at that time. 
The edifice is located in a valley, surrounded by trees, so that I 
could only get a glance at it from a neighboring eminence. 

My walk lay through several villages and a good country. 
Some of the hamlets were composed entirely of straw-thatched cot- 
tages of one story, and the inhabitants were as ancient in appear- 
ance as the homes they occupied. One that I entered was a 
representative of all. The floor was stone, neatly sanded, the fur- 
niture was scanty, but the entire place clean. I noticed in this 
cottage what I frequently observed before, that, no matter how 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 183 

humble tilings were, they were kept tidy, and the clothing of the 
cottagers, even though patched, was neat. 

The occupants of the cottage were sociable and kind. One 
was a perfect specimen of the old English peasant ] the other the 
good housewife of former days. The old man handed me a seat, 
and, as I slung my knapsack on the ground and accepted the 
proffered chair, he exclaimed, "Ay, that's heavy, lad; ye must 
be sore tired. Come, lass, bring a pot of ale for the stranger." 
And I soon refreshed myself with the welcome draught. The 
friendly peasant and his wife regarded me as ar curiosity when 
they learned that I was from America, and insisted that I should, 
drink another mug of home-brewed before bidding them fare- 
well. I conversed with them for some time, and when we parted 
it was with a hearty ''God bless you !" from the kind couple. 

The village lay in a valley, from which I ascended to an ele- 
vated plain, over which I leisurely pursued my way along a glo- 
rious road, such as is only seen in England. The hedges were 
green and odorous, the sky pure and cloudless, and my heart 
light. I was on my direct route to Shakspeare's grave, and 
realized to my satisfaction that T was on English ground. The 
soil generally was better than that in many other counties in 
which I had been, although some of it was indifferent, and pro- 
duced but little. The land was under cultivation throughout, 
but not all of it in grain. Wheat, barley, hay, oats, beans, and 
mangel-wurzel, were the principal products. Several fields were 
used for grazing purposes, and, in fact, the raising of stock ap- 
peared to be one of the main stays of the farmer. The consump- 
tion of meats in England is great, and the demand is always 
equal to the supply; consequently, the farmer raises that which 
brings him ready cash, and at the same time improves the land. 
The method of farming may be better than ours, but I could not 
discover in what it is superior. The appearance of the country 
is beautiful to the eye, and as the land is either in grain or grass, 
and not an inch uncared for, the American traveller usually makes 
up his mind that the English cultivators are better farmers than 
those of the United States. The land does not produce more 
grain to the acre than is grown with us, on the same amount of 
12 



134 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

ground, and the yield varies from as low as ten to as high as sixty 
bushels of wheat to the acre, the last being the greatest quantity 
obtained in the interior countieSj and that not often. The uten- 
sils are exceedingly clumsy, and some of the ploughs require as 
many as four horses to draw them. I have seen men ploughing 
with that many, one ahead of the other, and it rarely happens 
that less than three are used. The men who do the work are but 
little better in their condition than the farm-hands in the south 
of Ireland, and many of them are quite as ignorant. Those 
"with whom I conversed informed me that they received but from 
12d. to 14:d. pence per day, and out of that sum several of them 
had families to support and rent to pay. They complained very 
much of their situation, and the manner in which they were com- 
pelled to live. On the turnpike, I met several laborers employed 
at breaking stone, and repairing the road, who were really 
ashamed to tell me what their wages were. One of them hung 
his head, and said it was little indeed, while others acknowledged 
that those who broke stone received eight pence per square yard 
for what they broke, at which rate they earned sixteen pence per 
day, and the laborers got one shilling. A wagoner informed me 
that his wages were eight shillings a week ; and, said he, " A poor 
man finds it a hard job to feed a wife and seven children out o* 
that, and pay fourteen pence a week rent." He knew I was an 
American, and expressed a strong desire to go to the States ; 
many of his acquaintance were there, and all doing well. 

I stopped at a cottage at a toll-gate, and entered into conversa- 
tion with a young married woman, who dwelt there. She was 
illiterate, but agreeable and hospitable. She showed me the 
house. It had but two rooms, one up and one down stairs, the 
lower one of which was paved or floored with stone flags. The 
furniture was scanty; but what there was, was good and clean. 
She was fond of flowers, and had a garden, of a few yards in 
length, in which she cultivated some floral gems. She confirmed 
what the men had told me in regard to wages, and said it was not 
an unusual thing for men to work in the fields all day for much 
less than a shilling. Her husband was a gardener for a noble- 
man^ near at hand, and received but poor pay. He paid ten 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 135 

pence per week rent, and had hard work to support himself and 
family. They had four children, all young. The eldest went 
to school, where she was instructed in reading and writing at a 
cost of a penny-ha' -penny per week. Schooling is the cheapest 
thing the poor have in Warwickshire, but what the quality of it 
is I was unable to learn. 

On this route I was fortunate in beholding one of the most 
magnificent prospects in the world — the Red Horse vale — from 
the brow of Edgehill, a place remarkable for the first engagement 
between Cromwell and Charles T. The old Puritan and his troops 
did sad havoc among the royalists on that memorable day, and 
now the bones of the slain enrich the land 

*'Whicli the rude swain 
Turns with his share and treads upon." 

The valley, for miles, is beautiful beyond a pen and ink de- 
scription. I stood upon an elevated headland, whose green sides 
rapidly sloped to the plain, and as far as the sight extended, to 
the right and left, stretched the glorious scene. Away, in the 
blue distance, arose the "stormy hills of Wales;" while at xaj 
feet, and before me, was a landscape of most living beauty — of 
fields of waving grain, divided by luxuriant hedges, and traversed 
by sinuous roads. The blue smoke curled up from the cottage 
chimneys on the farms, and the sharp spire of a distant village 
church pierced the pure air above. In a far-off field a number of 
reapers, male and female, were at labor; and the balmy air of 
morning was rich with the scent of new-mown hay and the breath 
of flowers. The landscape looked like a velvet carpet, adorned 
with the master designs of a great artist, and woven in the rich- 
est and most pleasing colors. I gazed for an hour, drinking in 
the inspiration of the scene, and contemplating the magnificent 
prospect before me. It was unhackneyed and un travelled. I 
came on it by surprise, and my delight was sincere and lasting. 

A loquacious innkeeper wanted me to look at some rusty 
weapons of strife, which had been found on the field of battle at 
various times, and could not understand why I took so much 
pleasure in viewing the valley and surrounding scenery. He was 



136 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

full of history, and could point out the very spot where the royal- 
ists first gave way ; and, if I had permitted him, would have de- 
tained me a week to listen to his descriptions of the conflicts which 
have taken place in the valley, for it has been the scene of more 
than one bloody encounter between furious foes. 

My road lay through and across the splendid vale before me, 
and, as I had a long walk to accomplish before sunset, I descended 
into the plain and pursued my way, a lonely pilgrim to Shak- 
speare's tomb. 

The walk was pleasant, and made agreeable by occasional con- 
versations with such of the peasantry as I met. One young fel- 
low walked several miles with me, and grew quite friendly before 
we separated. He was clothed in the usual style of the country 
people — smock frock, yellow cloth leggings, coarse shoes, and 
short-clothes, a most abominable dress to my way of thinking. 
He was not, by any. means, intelligent, and, although we were 
within six miles of Shakspeare's birthplace, and he himself was 
born near the famous town, he knew nothing of his immortal 
countryman. 

The scenery, as I approached Stratford-on-Avon, grew more and 
more lovely the nearer I drew to the town, and at last, from a 
gentle knoll, my eye caught sight of the tall spire of the church 
of Holy Trinity, where Shakspeare lies buried. I was alone, and 
on foot, weary and worn with many miles of travel; the sun was 
low in the western heavens, and the soft sky of an English sum- 
mer's evening bent over tlie famous place in which was born the 
greatest of England's bards. Dust clung to my mantle, and the 
beaded sweat was upon my brow. Before me were scenes, the 
very mention of whose names makes the heartstrings of the lover 
of poetry thrill. There was the pensive Avon — there the meadows 
in which Shakspeare roved, and the mausoleum in which repose 
his ashes. I could scarcely realize the truth of my situation for 
a time, and joy filled my heart when the fact was made clear to 
my senses. One of the brightest dreams of my boyhood was, at 
that moment, fulfilled, and Stratford-on-Avon was in reality be- 
fore me. 

I slowly crossed the old stone bridge that spans the stream and 



137 

leads into the toTvn, and soon entered its principal street. It 
was near the close of a market-day, and the space devoted to traf- 
fic was filled with articles of trade, and crowded with citizens and 
rustics. I passed on to an inn, and after engaging lodgings, sal- 
lied out in search of the house in which the bard of Avon first 
drew breath. Henley Street is neither wide nor attractive, nor 
are the houses on it remarkable for architectural beauty. Its 
pavements, however, have borne the tread of some of the greatest 
of intellectual men ; and strangers from every section of the world, 
familiar with the works of Shakspeare, have sauntered along that 
thoroughfare to the house in which he was born. I felt that the 
earth beneath my feet was sacred, as I moved along in search of 
the humble mansion so dear to the admirers of the great dramatic 
bard, and soon stood before the quaint old structure with vague, 
undefinable feelings, such as we are prone to experience when we 
realize an aspiration which has been a cherished hope from child- 
hood, yet a thing we feared would never be accomplished. 

The house is two stories high, antiquated and humble. It is 
open to strangers, who are expected to make a small purchase in 
return for the favor of standing within its sacred walls. The 
lower floor is flagged with stones, and the room in which the im- 
mortal poet first saw the light is a very humble apartment, with a 
floor of oak. The walls are almost entirely covered with the 
names of those who have visited the house, among which, the old 
lady, having charge of the place, showed me the autographs of 
John Kemble, the actor, and Emerson, the American essayist ; 
and also, in one of the windows, that of the great " Wizard of the 
North," Sir Walter Scott, written with a diamond on a pane of 
glass. I recorded my humble name among thousands of the un- 
distinguished which disfigured the ceiling and sides of the room, 
and, after purchasing a few mementos, left my autograph in a 
book kept for the signatures of visitors. The old lady was very 
obliging and communicative. She told me that more Americans 
came to the house than any others, and her assertion was borne 
out by the records. I asked for the book in which Washington 
Irving had written his name ; but it was not there. The house, 
a few years ago, changed owners, and at that time the book in 

12"^ 



138 THE FOOTrATII AND IITGIINVAY ; 

question was sold, by auction, to a gentleman in London, wlio 
was curious in such matters, and now graces the library of a pri- 
vate individual in the metropolis. 

The building in which the great dramatist died was torn down 
years ago, and the places which attract the pilgrim's attention now 
are " the cradle and the grave.'^ 

Distinguished authors have described Stratford Church in 
classic language, and thousands have read their descriptions with 
eagerness, profit, and pleasure. It would be folly in me to attempt 
an account of that renowned edifice, and yet I am inclined to try, 
although I can add but little of interest to what has already been 
said. It is a noble Gothic structure, of great beauty, with a taper- 
ing spire full one hundred and fifty feet high, which pierces the 
air like a pointed arrow. The approach is through an arbor of 
lime-trees, which form an inviting walk, and as the church is 
built close to the bank of the sylvan stream, it presents a splen- 
did prospect, and deserves to be the mausoleum of the immortal 
bard. 

The chancel is the tomb of Shakspeare and his descendants, 
and there, also, repose the remains of his wife — Anne Hathaway. 
At the side, near the vault wherein he lies, is a tablet to his 
memory, surmounted with a bust, which did not strike me as a 
correct likeness. There is a fulness of face, and floppishness of 
the muscles, if I may be allowed the expression, which do not 
indicate either genius or intelligence. It is not my ideal of Shak- 
speare, and looks more like the bust of a burly butcher than of the 
*' sweet Swan of Avon." The vault is covered with a rough stone 
slab, on which are engraved, in the orthography of the poet's day, 
these lines of terrible import to the sacrilegious : — - 

Good friend, for Jesus's sake forbear 
To dig the dust enclos'd here ; 
Elest be the man that spares these stones, 
And cui'st be he that moves my bones. 

The other tombs are inscribed with the date of the birth and 
death of his children, and adjoining are the graves of some of the 
nobility of the country. Figures to the memory of a once noble 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 139 

f\uully occupy another section of the church; but the race they 
honor, like that of the bard, is extinct; and in this respect only 
is the resemblance borne out, for what their names are, but few 
learn, and none care to remember. 

The sexton who told Washington Irving that he had seen 
the ashes of Shakspeare was guilty of a pardonable deviation 
from the truth, which has given rise to a very pretty story and a 
cherished conceit. It is almost sacrilege to break the charm ; 
but the truth ought to be told, and I will be censurable in tell- 
ing it if there be censure attached to a statement of facts. The 
present sexton is grandson to the one celebrated by my country- 
man, and he says it was and is impossible to see the remains of 
the bard from the place represented. The vault said to have 
been opened for the purpose of burial at the time alluded to is 
not within two feet of the grave of Shakspeare, and from the 
location of the two burial-places there exists no doubt but that 
Irving was imposed upon. My guide showed me the tomb, and 
pointed out the impossibility of seeing through two feet of solid 
earth into the grave of Shakspeare, for in digging the vault it 
is not likely that the narrow house would have exceeded by that 
distance the usual dimensions allotted to man. But the conclu- 
sive proof is that no vault has been opened immediately along- 
side that of the poet for nearly a hundred and fifty years; and 
unless his remains are exhumed, there is scarcely a possibility of 
mortal eye beholding them until the final resurrection, when ocean 
and earth shall restore all that their arms entomb, and the mortal 
put on immortality. 



140 THE rOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 



CHAPTER XI. 

WARWICK, KENILWORTH, BIRMINGHAM, AND THE GRAVE OF 

SHENSTONE. 

By the stage route from Stratford-on-Avon to "Warwick, the 
traveller has a fine panoramic view of the silent stream and adja- 
cent country — the broad meadows through which the immortal 
bard was wont to roam, and the domain over which his poaching 
propensities used to lead him. The day on which I left the famous 
locality was beautifully clear, and an outside seat agreeable. The 
passengers were a gentlemanly set of men, quite republican in 
their sentiment, although they occasionally exhibited an affection 
for royalty. After an hour's ride, we entered the old town of War- 
wick, and had a view of its famous castle, a towering building of 
immense proportions and great strength. Its lofty turrets rise up 
like proud sentinels, and add a feudal feature to the quiet town 
under its shade to which it gives name. My fellow-travellers 
left me here with a hearty shake of the hand and a wish for the 
prosperity of my noble country, hoping to have the pleasure of 
meeting me again, while I pursued my way to Leamington, a 
modern town near Warwick, of great beauty and noted for its 
mineral spas. It is of recent date, and in appearance is as clean 
and attractive as most American towns. The streets are wide, and 
mostly shaded with trees, which give the place quite a suburban 
aspect. Five miles from Leamington are the hale old ruins of 
Kenilworth Castle, a text from which Sir Walter Scott wrote a 
novel. It is overgrown with ivy and much shattered, although 
its walls look as if they would brave the storms of another thousand 
years. It is hid from view as you approach from the village by a 
grove of young oaks, and when first seen it comes upon the sight 
in all its ruined grandeur and lordly glory. The remains are 
massive, and bear evidence to the magnificence of the building in 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 141 

its prime and habitable days. It is extensive, and one of the 
rooms, which is nearly entire, gives an adequate idea of the dimen- 
sions of the apartments, when they echoed to the voices of stern 
lords and ladies fair. In ancient days there was a lake within 
the walls which inclose the castle, but now it is also fallen, and 
dwindled to a pond of stagnant water. There were some gentry 
present from Leamington rambling among the fallen fragments 
and around the broken towers of the glorious ruin ; while in a 
meadow, at the castle's side, once used as a tournament ground, a 
number of reapers were engnged at labor. The day was showery, 
but not sufficiently so to destroy the enjoyment of the visit^ or 
prevent 

" The lords and ladies from making love, 
Or the clowns from making hay." 

I sauntered back to the station, and in a short time found my- 
self in the ancient town of Coventry, celebrated for being the place 
in which the good Lady Godiva performed an equestrian feat in a 
costume neither wove nor spun, which excited the laudable curiosity 
of one of the sterner sex, and gained for his inquisitive honor the 
world-wide sobriquet of Peeping Tom of Coventry. Tennyson, 
the poet, has woven the story into beautiful measure, where the 
lovers of the curious will find a rich treat. ^' He waited for the 
evening train at Coventry,'' and while contemplating the quaint 
old city and its three lofty spires, made immortal, through exqui- 
site verse, the story of the lady and the knave. 

The town is old and strange. The houses are peculiar to the 
place, and the streets are both crooked and dirty. Every year 
the good citizens celebrate the freedom of their ancient city by a 
procession, in which a young girl, dressed in clothing as delicate 
as that worn by ballet-dancers, acts a prominent part, and rustics 
from far and near assemble to witness the display. I was in Lon- 
don when the exhibition came off in the summer of 1851, and 
thousands went from the metropolis to view the spectacle. I had 
no ambition that way, and rest perfectly content now with my 
ramble through the town, while ''waiting for the evening train 
to" Birmingham. 



142 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

The great Work-Shop of England, as Birmingham may justly 
"be called, is one of the meanest cities in appearance in the realm. 
There is scarcely a redeeming feature about it, and, excepting the 
Town Hall, not a single building deserving of particular note. The 
streets, like the streets of all English towns, are wretchedly crooked, 
and, what may be said to be a Birmingham peculiarity, are narrow, 
irregular, filthy, steep, awry, badly paved, lined with indifferent 
houses, and clouded even in clear weather with smoke ; while on 
damp or wet days they are so obscured with it that a man must 
be blest with wonderfully acute vision if he is able to see one hun- 
dred yards along any of the few straight thoroughfares in the 
place. It is situate nearly in the centre of England, on what is 
said to be the highest land in the country, except the various 
mountains; and, like Manchester, usually receives a shower-bath 
from the clouds five out of the seven days of the week. 

Like all the English manufacturing towns, it is plentifully sup- 
plied with poor people. In roaming round the city, I met decent- 
looking men and women standing in the middle of the street singing 
songs for what pence the moving or gaping throng felt inclined to 
give them, and at sundown the thoroughfares are the places of ex- 
hibition of negro singers and similar performers. I cannot think 
that these people voluntarily follow such occupations as a means 
of livelihood, for it does not stand to reason that a person would 
go into the open street as a low performer to earn a precarious sub- 
sistence, if work were obtainable whereby a living could be had 
without the disgrace or insults to which one is subjected who fol- 
lows the business of an itinerant street exhi biter. Beggars were 
more common than in London (probably because begging is tole- 
rated to a greater extent than in the metropolis), and in the even- 
ing men are to be met asking alms, and exposing their mutilated 
limbs to enlist the sympathies of the benevolent. I met more 
than a dozen different mendicants with their legs or arms off, and 
several blind and otherwise afflicted by explosions in mines, or 
accidents on railways. Ballad-singers were roaming the streets, 
singing in dolorous tune the blight of crops or the misfortunes 
of rustic lovers, while gaping children listened to the rambling 
musician or his doggerel rhymes. Take it all in all, Brummayeu 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 143 

(as it is called by the lower natives) is a peculiar town — deserving 
a visit from the traveller, both on account of the mixed character 
of its inhabitants, and the extent and variety of its manufactures. 
Every variety of metallic and ornamental wares is produced in 
Birmingham, and she really supplies the world with a certain 
class of her manufactures. Steel pens are made there in im- 
mense quantities, and the number of persons employed exclu- 
sively in giving form and temper to those iron recorders amounts 
to some thousands. I visited the extensive establishment of the 
Messieurs Gillott, and saw the process of manufacture from rolling 
the iron into sheets of the requisite thickness to the finishing of 
the pen. The steel is received from Sheffield in a condition for 
being converted into writing instruments, and first cut into strips 
two inches wide, and pickled to remove the scale; then rolled to 
the required thickness; after which it is passed into the hands of 
females who are seated at presses worked by hand, and by them 
cut at one blow into flat pieces of a particular shape, which are 
the future pens. Side-slitting and piercing follow, which are also 
done on a hand-press, fitted up with a punch and bolster ; after 
which the blanks, as they are called, are annealed in quantities 
in a muffle. The maker's name is next stamped upon them, and 
then they are pressed into a concave form, the last process of 
forming the barrel pen. Hardening, which requires great care 
and trouble, is done by heating in a muffle to a certain degree, 
after which the pens are steeped in oil, which is cleaned off by 
whirling them round in a cylinder. They are next scoured by 
the same process, with the exception that powdered crucibles and 
other cutting substances are placed in the cylinder along with the 
pens, which produces on all a bright surface. The grinding on 
the point is done with great rapidity on an emory wheel, after 
which they go to the " slitter,'' who is provided with a pair of 
cutting shears fitted into a hand-press so accurately that a careful 
examination is necessary to detect that the two blades are not 
one. The pen is rested on the portion at the bottom, the handle 
turned, and the slit made. The shades of blue and straw-color 
are produced by heat. The pens are placed in a cylinder in large 
quantities, which revolves on a charcoal stove, and the change of 



144 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

color watched until that desired is attained, when the cylinder 
and its contents are removed. The brilliancy of the external sur- 
face is given by lac dissolved in naphtha, to which heat is applied 
until the spirit evaporates, when the lac alone remains, and the 
pen preserves its lustre, and is finished. The white marks on 
some are produced by grinding them at such points on an emory 
wheel. I have been thus particular in detailing the process of 
making a steel pen for the gratification of those who use them, 
that they may know what labor is required to produce a thing so 
small and useful. The girls employed in their manufacture pre- 
sented a better appearance than any others I saw in England, 
about the workshops. They were well clothed, healthful, and 
had quite intelligent faces. I spoke to one who was grinding 
pens, an employment very hard upon the fingers, and she gave 
ready and respectful replies to my inquiries. As I left her, a 
companion asked, ^'What is he?" ^'Oh! an American; I know 
him by his sharp face, and the kind manner in which he spoke to 
me." 

The variety of the manufactures of Birmingham is great, and 
her products singular. In proof of this I can say that she has sent 
forth almost every article that can be made from iron and com- 
posites, as well as cotton and flax. The skill and ingenuity of 
her artisans are astonishing, and the readiness of her master- 
workmen to manufacture anything proverbial, no matter what it 
may be, so they get paid. The " News of the World," a London 
publication of July 20, 1851, said that ^^it is a matter of no- 
toriety that the strongest and stoutest, the best and the cheap- 
est slave-fetters to be found, are manufactured in Birmingham ;" 
and it is equally notorious that she furnished rifles, swords, mus- 
kets, and artillery to the enemies of Great Britain, both in Africa 
and India, thereby giving evidence that as it was, and is her 
business to manufacture, she is ready and willing to furnish arms 
to friend or foe, so that she is the gainer. 

There is not much of a romantic character in Birmingham, 
but some sections of the surrounding country present fine scenery, 
as well as ruins old, and massive halls. The town of Hales-Owen, 
celebrated as the birthplace and burial-place of Shenstone, the 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 145 

poet, is distant about seven miles, and near it are the Leasowes, 
the once sylvan home of the bard. I walked from Birmingham 
to the town named for the purpose of leisurely viewing the coun- 
try, and observing what was curious on the route. During my 
ramble, I stopped several times at the small workshops on the 
road, and the scene that one of them presented it is difficult to 
describe. The place was small, with a forge and anvil for two 
workmen. I made an apology to an old man for my intrusion, 
which was kindly received, and at his invitation I took a seat. 
He and his wife, an aged grayhaired woman, were busily engaged 
in making nails for the heavy shoes worn by the rustics and la- 
boring poor of the country. I expressed surprise at a woman being 
thus employed, and asked whether it was a usual thing. 

" Oh yes ! I ha' been at it for more than sixty years,'' said the 
woman ; " and there are many women beside me at nail-making." 

" For sixty years I why, how old are you, madam ?" I inquired. 

"I will be sixty-eight soon; and I was put at the business 
when I was but six years old; and it was not uncommon i' that 
day for youngsters to be put to work so soon.'' 

"How much do you earn in a day?" 

"Not much, sir. A person maun work hard for thirteen or 
fourteen hours, and then be a very good han,' to earn eighteen 
pence, out of which he maun pay for his fire, and find the tools.'^ 

" The wages were better once ?" I asked. 

"Yes; but that's, a long while ago. The masters are always 
cutting down wages, and now a great many of our neighbors are 
on the strike against a reduction of four shillings i' the pound.'' 

" But what's the cause of the reduction ?" 

" That we cannot tell. The masters always have some excuse 
for cutting off the wages of the poor. Every year they're at it, 
and I don't think they'll ever stop." 

I told her that she was so old that she ought to quit work, and 
rest for the balance of her days. 

" Yes, I wish I could ; but if I do na' work, I must go to the 
workhouse or starve, and I don't wish to do either. I have 
worked long enough, and I think I ought to be rich ; but it is 
13 



146 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

not sucli as ought to be rich as are so ; and as I am poor, I must 
work on till I die, which canno' be long now." 

I stayed some time conversing with this pair. They informed 
me that they paid a shilling rent per week for their house, and 
earned about enough, when work was to be had, to keep them 
from want. Their clothing was scanty, and their house poorly 
furnished. The old woman's sight was very dim, and when she 
turned her dull eyes upon me I could not help but pity her hope- 
less condition. She was on the verge of the grave, and by the 
sternest necessity was compelled to bend to her daily task over 
the anvil to earn a living at a species of labor the most arduous 
and trying to man. I parted with them, after giving them a few 
pence, and they both came to the door and bade me adieu with a 
blessing. 

Hales-Owen lies in a valley, and is principally famous for its 
proximity to the Leasowes, the once romantic home of the poet. 
That estate is now sadly neglected to what it was in the bard's 
time ; no ^^rural fays and fairies'^ deign to tread its ruined walks, 
and but few pilgrims roam through its arbors. For many years 
it was a favorite resort of the admirers of cultivated nature, and 
pensive lovers ; but, like all sublunary things, its days of glory 
have gone, and desolation rules in the classic domain. 

The church of the town is remarkable for a very beautiful 
spire of great altitude, and for containing an urn to the memory 
of Shenstone. His grave is in the churchyard immediately be- 
side a footpath, and as its stone covering is level with the earth, 
it is worn by the tread of many feet, until the inscription is nearly 
obliterated. I arrived in the village sufficiently early to meet the 
aged sexton at the shrine before he had gotten through with his 
morning duties, and with his permission I spent some time in the 
church. He was a talkative old man, with a fund of legendary 
lore, and quite amiable in his manners. He conducted me through 
the ancient edifice, pointing out the most remarkable tombs, and 
sat quietly chatting of his early days and courtship in the walks 
of the Leasowes, whilst I copied the verses on the urn to the 
poet's memory. Before us was the memorial ; at my side arose a 
clustered Gothic column; the grayhaired old man was seated near 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 147 

me, and the subdued rays of the sun fell on his figure through 
the mullioned window in the choir. It was a rich scene, and 
caused me to think it not an unapt picture of a sprig of forest 
America, in converse with a true representative of old England. 
The lines on the tribute are no doubt in the published works of 
the bard, but I have no recollection of overseeing them before. The 
poet of Hales-Owen was celebrated in his day ; but, at present, 
only a few persons turn out of their way to pay homage to his 
genius, and a fee to the sexton. The inscription is as follows : — 

WILL. SHENSTONE. 
Ob. 11th Feby. 1763— ^t. 49. 
Whoe'er thou art, with reverence tread 
These sacred mansions of the dead ; 
Not that the monumental bust, 
Or sumptuous tomb here guards the dust 
Of rich or great : (Let wealth, rank, birth 
Sleep undistinguished in the earth : ) 
This simple urn records a name 
That shines with more exalted fame. 
Reader! if genius, taste refined, 
A native elegance of mind ; 
If virtue, science, manly sense ; 
If wit which never gave offence ; 
The calmest head, the tenderest heart, 
In thy esteem e'er claimed a part. 
Ah ! smite thy breast and di'op a tear, 
For know thy Shenstone's dust lies here! 

The poetry of the lines is of that class that is said "to belong 
to neither gods nor men;" nor is the statement respecting the 
resting-place of the bard's ashes true. But it is the rhymer's 
license to deal in fiction, and, therefore, the assertion may be al- 
lowed for convenience sake. Thousands who visit Westmin- 
ster Abbey believe that England's greatest men lie buried there, 
when the truth is that the remains of three or four only are in- 
terred in that celebrated mausoleum. Shakspeare, Dryden, Pope, 
Milton, Gray, Goldsmith, and many others have monuments in 
the grand old abbey, but their dust moulders afar from the spot. 

Hales-Owen is the picture of an English town a hundred years 



148 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

ago. Secluded and nestled in a valley, it receives but few visitors ; 
and as its inhabitants are content with a retired life, they seldom 
go far from their dwellings. When a stranger comes among them, 
as I did, they evidently regard his advent as a remarkable event 
in the history of the place, if I may be allowed to judge from the 
commotion my presence among them produced. 

From thence to Dudley, a distance of six miles, there is an al- 
most unbroken hamlet. The tall chimneys of the forges emit a 
black smoke, and the steam from the engines at the coal-pits forms 
a strong contrast to the dark vapor. At one of the villages there 
was a meeting in session of the workmen on the strike, and the 
condition of the men who formed the assemblage was far from 
flattering. They were badly clothed, and pale and sickly. I 
stayed and listened to the speakers for some time, but none of them 
proposed a reasonable means of permanent relief. They were 
illiterate, and spoke the grating dialect of the country, which was 
certainly best suited to the audience, and though plain and com- 
mon-place language was used, it was such as the workmen wanted 
to hear. In a conversation with some of the men, I learned the 
particulars of the strike; and their statements confirmed those 
made by the old man and his wife respecting labor and wages. 
They appeared to think, however, that the final result of their 
action would be to accept the reduced prices, and work and starve 
on! 

The houses in the villages are miserable hovels, a degree supe- 
rior to the thatched cottages of the Irish peasantry — and a degree 
only. They are tolerably well lighted, and contain some furni- 
ture, but not much. The most of them are kept clean, so far as 
that is possible in an atmosphere of black smoke, and the few 
articles of household goods they contain are those of utility. 

There are numerous coal-pits on the route — some of them of 
great depth; but my curiosity did not prompt me to descend into 
them. The workmen engaged in raising the iron and coal (for 
both are obtained from the same pit) informed me that their 
wages varied from five to ten shillings per week, and then they 
were compelled to labor very hard to earn that much. I saw 
boys, and even women at work at these places, assorting and 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 149 

sliovelling coal into wagons, some of whom earned the miserable 
pittance of two shillings in six days. One of the girls was a fine- 
looking lass of prepossessing appearance, and it was a sickening 
sight to see her laboring, like a galley-slave, with a shovel among 
the inky fuel. But what else was she to do? She could get no 
other work, and if she did not do that, she must starve. 

Many of the children of the district are sent to cheap schools, 
where they are instructed in the rudiments of reading and writ- 
ing — a blessing their parents never enjoyed. This, however, is 
not general, and thousands of the present generation must grow 
up in brutal ignorance. 

Dudley is a town of about 15,000 inhabitants, and, as it is 
located in the coal and iron district, it carries on a considerable 
trade. On an eminence overlooking it, stand the ruins of the 
Castle, a picturesque old pile, said to have been erected in the 
year 700, by a Saxon chief. The great halls and once princely 
apartments where, of yore, the gay and chivalrous assembled, are 
now weather-worn ruins and roofless cells, echoing only to the 
tread of the tourist or the sounding storm. The remains of the 
tower of the Donjon-Keep are very imposing, and command a 
view of surpassing beauty and extent. While I was upon them, 
a thunderstorm came up, making the heavens black. The dark 
smoke belched forth from the thousand towering chimneys in the 
surrounding valleys, and added a deeper blackness to the angry 
clouds, while the iron furnaces which cover the landscape sent 
out the glare of their red flames, making a burning and smoking 
hell of the plain; nor is the expression too strong when we in- 
troduce into the picture the swarthy forms of the workmen glid- 
ing about the apertures to the sunless caves beneath, and the 
forked lightning as it broke through the black and muttering 
clouds above. 



13= 



160 THE FOOTPATFI AND HIGHWAY; 



CHAPTEK XII. 

LICHFIELD — STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES — CHESTER AN OLD 

FRIEND — PRESTON, ETC. 

From Birmingham to LichlBeld, is a distance of twenty miles, 
and, as the last-named town is celebrated for being the birthplace 
of Dr. Johnson, I wended my way thither. 

It contains one of the finest cathedrals in England, and a sta- 
tue of the celebrated essayist, both of which are sufficient attrac- 
tions for the stranger, and draw hundreds to the town who would 
never think of visiting it without some such objects of interest 
were there. The building is very large, being 491 feet by 151, 
and surrounded by a splendid close, or inclosure. It was erected 
in the year 1130, and suffered much during the civil wars, at 
which time it was garrisoned by the royalists and besieged by the 
parliamentary forces. The front is elaborately ornamented, and 
adorned with a great number of effigies in stone of saints and 
kings, and exquisitely chiselled scrolls and devices. Some repairs 
have recently been made, but as they are only partial they rather 
destroy than add to the beauty of the edifice. The interior is 
really magnificent, and contains several statues of great beauty, 
among which are those of Dr. Johnson, Garrick, and Lady Mary 
Wortley Montague, and others less distinguished. The finest 
statuary is a work of Chantrey, erected over the tomb of two chil- 
dren. The statue of the great lexicographer is neither a fine piece 
of sculpture nor an attractive one. It is placed in the market- 
square, not far from the birthplace of the Doctor, and represents 
him in a recumbent position and thoughtful mood. The panels 
of the pedestal are ornamented with bas-reliefs, illustrating events 
in the life of Johnson, and an inscription setting forth that the 
statue was presented to the town by the chancellor of the dis- 
trict. Lichfield was once the residence of Dr. Darwin, and the 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 151 

house in which he lived and wrote his " Zoonomia" is shown to 
visitors. At St. John's Free School, Dr. Johnson, Addison, 
Garrick, and other eminent men, received the rudiments of their 
education. 

The town is quiet, and contrasts strongly with its neighbors, 
Wolverhampton, Wednesbury, and Walsall, which are under a 
cloud of black smoke, while the former is open to the clear light of 
day. As I pursued my way into the country, I turned to look at 
its fine cathedral, and a glorious scene burst upon my sight. It 
is a massive and grand pile, soaring above the surrounding build- 
ings in majestic splendor. The distant prospect of the noble 
edifice alone should be a sufficient inducement for making a visit 
to Lichfield. 

I left the birthplace of the great scholar with feelings akin to 
regret, strolled along under the shade of the hedges to the station, 
and took passage to Colwich, in Staffordshire, at which there is a 
branch railway leading into the Potteries. The village is small, 
and presents no attractions beyond its church and the walls of a 
nunnery near by. While waiting for the train, I paid a visit to 
the place of worship, and gazed around the interior upon the 
tablets and memorials which the friends of deceased relatives have 
raised to commemorate the virtues of the dead. In one part is a 
monument to Sir Thomas Wolsey, who was drowned some hun- 
dreds of years ago, and whose family has been extinct for ages. 
The effigy is sadly mutilated, and the face is divested of its nasal 
appendage, which gives it a comical and ludicrous expression. In 
the chancel there are several really beautiful tablets to the memory 
of different members of the Anson family, and a number of me- 
morials to other individuals less distinguished, and lower in 
England's classification of men. The nunnery is a short distance 
from the church, situate on. a hill, and surrounded by high walls 
and shrubbery. It was founded about twelve years ago, and its 
occupants have the name of being kind to the poor and attentive 
to the sick and friendless. 

The village lies a short distance from the station, and is princi- 
pally built upon one street. The houses are humble places, hun- 
dreds of years old, mostly covered with ivy, or festooned with 



162 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

clambering jessamine and other flowers, and look the very reality 
of the cottages of English poetry, and, for aught I know, are. 
They did not detain me long, and taking the train^ I was soon 
carried away, through rural scenery, to the potteries of Stafford- 
shire. Stoke-upon-Trent, a forbidding town, and its sister villages, 
Burslem and Lane-End, both of which share its characteristics, 
constitute the principal part of the earthenware and Chinaware 
district, and are mean, filthy places, although exhibiting great ac- 
tivity and bustle. 

The pottery business is a disagreeable and laborious one in 
nearly all its branches, and furnishes work to men, women, and 
children. The ornamental designs which adorn the ware are put 
on by transferring pictures printed from copperplate engravings. 
The process is simple, and, when a person sees it applied, there is 
no mystery as to the manner in which the accurate drawings and 
exquisite designs are produced on China and other earthenwares. 
I conversed with numbers of workmen, and all of them appeared 
very well satisfied with their wages ; but they informed me that it 
was a bright time for them, and they were fearful it would not last. 

The towns in this district are straggling places, or rather a con- 
tinuation of villages. The houses of the operatives have no par- 
ticular charms, and as the same black coal is used in the furnaces 
that serves for fuel throughout the kingdom, the atmosphere is 
filled with smoke, and the dwellings are dingy with soot. The 
rustics are a clownish set, and mostly dressed in a costume un- 
known in the United States. Knee-breeches are common, and 
coarse boots, with soles full three-quarters of an inch thick, filled 
with heavy nails, are the usual coverings for the feet. The dialect 
is broad and unintelligible, and unless a stranger has had some- 
previous acquaintance with the jargon of the natives, he is likely 
to be as far from understanding their outrageous language as he 
would be the speech of a Kickapoo or Pottawatomie Indian. 

Wet weather did not improve the appearance of the villages, 
nor was there anything to detain me after examining the manu- 
factories. So, once more taking train, I proceeded on my journey 
to Chester, an ancient city, situate on the Puver Dee, about eigh- 
teen miles from Liverpool. It is walled round, and the houses on 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 153 

several of the streets are so built as to form an arcade of the 
second stories for a considerable distance, which affords a conve- 
nient promenade and protection to pedestrians in stormy weather. 
The walls are nearly three miles in length, and pass through the 
new part of the city, and around the old. They are a fashionable 
resort, and present many fine views of the valley of the river, and 
the surrounding country. At one point is a tower whereon Charles 
I. stood and witnessed the defeat of his army on a neighboring 
moor in 1645. 

Chester is, properly considered, a remarkable town, and it is 
one that defies description. The traveller may write about the 
footwalks of the main avenues being in the second stories of the 
houses, but he cannot convey to the minds of his readers a picture 
of the reality. To say that you can walk a considerable distance 
under cover, one story above ground, will give perhaps the best 
idea of the arcades of Chester to a person who has never seen 
them. In Trinity Church, in a street called the \Yatergate, in 
the lower part of the town, near the walls, are the graves of Par- 
nell, the poet, and Matthew Henry, the commentator. The sexton 
conducted me through the edifice, and pointed out the tombs I 
sought. The tablet to the memory of the bard has been broken, 
and now lies as rubbish in the vaults beneath the floor ; that to 
the memory of the divine bears a slight inscription, and is a very 
plain affair. 

The most interesting building is the cathedral, a noble Gothic 
edifice, once used as an abbey. One of the entrances is through 
an arched way, formerly the garden gate of the ascetics, which 
leads to the walks connected with the religious establishment. 
The interior of the structure is adorned with carvings and orna- 
mental devices, and has a triforium, where, it is said, the nuns of 
yore were accustomed to sing the praises of the Deity, and bow 
their sacred heads. Tombs are numerous ; but the inhabitants are 
neither famous nor remarkable for anything but the monuments to 
their memories, and therefore not worth naming. I visited the 
silent cells, where of old the Eremites were wont to offer up their 
orisons, and trod the cloisters with a step solemn and slow, re- 
flecting upon the ancient day, and the revolutions made by time. 



154 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHV/AY ; 

The lioary walls, the crumbling fane, and the sacred gloom of the 
inner court, invested the venerable pile with a charm irresistible 
in its influences to lead the mind captive to pleasing contemplation 
and divine melancholy. 

For some weeks I had been a solitary wanderer in lonely places, 
without the company of friends, or the gratification of seeing a 
familiar face. Wherever my wanderings led, there was I alone, 
until reaching Liverpool, where I unexpectedly met with one of 
my fellow-passengers, whom I had not seen since we crossed the 
great deep together. He had been to Italy and through other 
continental countries since we parted, and bore the efi'ects of for- 
eign travel upon his face, in the shape of a pair of well cultivated 
mustaches, which he became admirably. Our meeting was one 
of sincere pleasure and mutual happiness, and riveted the chaia 
of friendship stronger than before. There was nothing of cold 
indifi"erence in his manner, and when he grasped my hand a 
gleam of uncontrolled delight shot across his manly face, and lit 
up his cheerful countenance. There was a sincerity in that wel- 
come that will cause me ever to remember my worthy friend and 
fellow-voyager, Andrew McMakin, Esq., of the Philadelphia 
^'American Courier," and esteem him while life lasts. "We com- 
pared notes, asked a thousand questions of each other, and parted 
once more to pursue our respective journeys. 

The great port was, as usual, wet and gloomy, and by no means 
attractive. I left it for Preston, in Lancashire, a town situate on 
the River Ribble, a stream of considerable size and great beauty. 
It is the cleanest of the English manufacturing towns, and presents 
an appearance entirely different from its sister cities. There is 
a walk of a mile or more in extent along the river, which affords 
some fine prospects and much pleasure to the denizens of the 
place. An arbor of trees forms a promenade on an eminence 
overlooking the pensive Ribble, and no town of the same size has 
so many facilities for the rational enjoyment of its inhabitants as 
Preston. The streets, in the upper part, are kept in excellent 
condition; and although the cotton-mills are numerous, still the 
black smoke of their chimneys does not discolor the houses to the 
extent that those of Manchester and Sheffield suffer from the sooty 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 155 

vapor. The laboring people do not differ from the same class in 
the other towns, if I may judge from their general appearance; 
but the mass of the citizens look well, and their condition, with 
the cleanliness of the place, impresses one favorably with the town 
and its inhabitants. Arkwright, the inventor of the spinning- 
mule, was a native of Preston, and realized a fortune in its neigh- 
borhood. The citizens of the adjoining districts speak lightly of 
the place, and 

''Proud Preston, poor people, 
Low chiu'ch aud high steeple," 

is regarded as a correct character of it and its denizens. 

From Preston to Lancaster is a pleasant ride ^' by rail,'' and as 
the road lies near the hills and sea, much that is attractive is to be 
seen. This town is blessed with an ancient castle, of formidable 
and imposing appearance, which serves the double purpose, at 
present, of jail and fortification. Near the place are the Lancas- 
ter Sands, that part of Morecambe Bay which lies between Ulver- 
stone and Lancaster, and which is made bare twice a day by the 
receding tides, excepting the channels of the Rivers Kent and 
Leven, and over which is a road for carriages and pedestrians. 
The government pays guides to direct travellers across at the pro- 
per time; but, in spite of the precaution, lives are frequently lost, 
and the passage is a dangerous one, unless a person has an experi- 
enced pilot. The distance over is eleven miles, and a man must 
travel pretty fast if he wishes to avoid being overtaken by the ris- 
ing waters. 



156 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LAKE COUNTRY OF ENGLAND. 

After leaving the town of Lancaster, I passed rapidly into the 
mountainous districts of Westmoreland and the lakes. The hills 
are rugged and rocky, but where the grass grows the surface is of 
the richest velvet green. I remained a while at the ancient town 
of Kendal, a place of 13,000 inhabitants, situate on the River 
Kent, a brawling brook, from which it takes its name. The ruins 
of a castle adjoin the place; and a church of the olden times, con- 
taining a number of curious monuments and relics of the past, in- 
vites the stranger to a stroll within its walls. My walk from this 
mountain village to Windermere was over a rough and hilly road, 
and, as the day was quite warm, the perspiration rolled from me as 
I trudged along under a heavy knapsack. The bright and trans- 
parent waters of the lake at last gladdened my sight, and after a 
comfortable rest at an inn, I pursued my journey to its sylvan 
shores. The village of Bowness overlooks the water, and com- 
mands some fine prospects ; but as the highlands partially shut 
out the view to the south, I plodded on to Ambleside, along the 
eastern shore of the lake, which village is situated at its northern 
extremity. Windermere is the largest sheet of water in England, 
but the scenery is tame, except in the immediate neighborhood of 
the hamlet just named, at which place the mountains rise majesti- 
cally to a considerable height, and as I approached them their 
bold and rugged fronts stood out in wild beauty against the even- 
ing sky. Ambleside lies in a valley, near a stream called the 
Rothay, which connects Rydal Water with its more extensive 
neighbor, and is principally important as a temporary residence 
of tourists to the surrounding country. The majority of the in- 
habitants keep furnished lodgings for visitors, and the traveller 
finds but little difficulty in obtaining excellent accommodations 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 157 

in a private house; with all the retirement of a home^ at moderate 
charges. 

I entered the village tired enough, and, observing a notice of 
"lodgings to let'^ conspicuously displayed in the front window of 
a comely little cottage, I made application for them, and was ac- 
cepted as a renter. The hostess was a plain young Scotch woman, 
of agreeable manners, and cheerful disposition. She conducted 
me to my allotted apartments, and hastened to prepare my tea. 
The sleeping-room was clean to a fault, the sheets and quilts white 
as snow, the place neatly carpeted, and provided with table and 
chairs. 

A little girl brought me a pitcher of water, and with a slight 
tap at the door asked me what further I would require, and what 
I would have for tea. She took ray order with a smile of ac- 
knowledgment, and noiselessly descended the stair to aid her mo- 
ther in fulfilling it. 

In due time she again tapped at my door, and with a courtesy 
and smile, said; " Please, sir, tea is ready." At her bidding I 
followed to the dining-room. 

The meal was prepared with care, the cloth was spotless white, 
the tea-set clear China, and the apartment plain but neat. Hot 
water had been poured into the cup to keep it warm, and the 
bread was cut into thin slices, buttered, for my convenience. "If 
you require anything,'' said the little dame, "please ring the 
bell, sir;'' and, with a smile of cheerfulness, she left me alone. 
The tea had been drawn, the egg was done to a nicety, and my 
meal was grateful. 

The master, as the father of a family is designated in England, 
whether high or low, returned home, shortly after ; but a formal 
recognition, as if he felt himself inferior to me, was all he uttered. 
The Vv^ife and child were like him, and neither of them ventured 
to converse with me, even at my solicitation. They preserved 
a respectful silence when I spoke, or replied in monosyllables, not 
knowing what to make of me. I did not persevere in my attempts 
to encourage them to sociability, as they were clearly unaccus- 
tomed to meet lodgers who put them on terms of equality. 

I considered myself fortunate in obtaining a home with mine host, 
14 



158 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

and after a sliort rest from a fatiguing walk, clambered up Lougli- 
rigg Fell, a bold jutting mountain which rises immediately at the 
head of the lake, and affords a comprehensive and magnificent 
prospect of the surrounding country. Windermere stretches away 
to the south, its shores lined with gradually sloping hills, while 
minor basins of water lie among the surrounding mountains, and 
rapid streams foam and roar at the foot of the rocky highland. 
Behind, to the north, the highest peaks loom up to the skies with 
their broken and irregular summits, while in the vale beneath 
lies the little town, with its church spire pointing to heaven, like 
a startled dove nestling under the broad shadow of the mountain. 
Kydal Knab or Knab Scar, near the residence of the poet Words- 
worth, forms the background to the picture that way in connec- 
tion with bold and towering cliffs, and to the west the scenery is 
wild and chaotic, giving a strong impression of what is the savage 
grandeur of more rugged mountain districts. At the foot of the 
hill in that direction there is a village, and beyond the valley 
rises the tower of a really beautiful church (surmounted by a 
cross), perched upon a knoll in a meadow of the brightest green, 
along the borders of which rushes a crystal stream which takes its 
rise amoflg the springs of the Langdale Pikes, two high hills to 
the north-west. The view comprehends the principal mountains 
of that section of the island, and affords distant prospects of Conis- 
ton and other lakes in addition to Windermere. 

One of the best walks about Ambleside is that along the west- 
ern shore of the Roth ay. The high cliffs of Loughrigg Fell and 
its neighboring hills overhang innumerable cottages and villas 
of great beauty, whose walls are partially hid by an umbrageous 
growth of ivy and clambering roses. The dark bills rise abruptly 
and precipitously behind these elfin haunts, and add greatly to 
the charms of the little domiciles. The village of Eydal contains 
but few dwellings, nearly all of which are of the character of those 
to which reference has just been made. Wordsworth's house is a 
secluded cottage, quietly perched upon the side of a towering and 
jagged mountain, which rises like a black wall behind it, while 
around is a thick growth of trees, and near by a modest little 
church. The lake is a sheet of transparent water about half a 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 159 

mile long, completely encircled by hills, whose frowning fore- 
heads overshadow its glassy surface. A road winds along its 
shores, and at one point, at the northern end, the old highway 
leads over a rocky pass to the adjacent water of Grasmere, in the 
church of which village is Wordsworth's grave. The view from 
this road (which is only used by pedestrians at present) either 
way is splendid, and amply repays the tourist for climbing up its 
rugged and stony surface. The two sheets of water are small, 
clear, and picturesque, and present a scene of great splendor. 
Far away to the north of Grasmere village, which lies on the 
shores of the lake in a verdant valley, looms up Helm Crag, on 
whose summit nature has performed a singular freak, by so dis- 
posing some heavy fragments of rock as to form the perfect figure 
of a huge lion couchant, with flowing mane, and ponderous paw 
resting upon what appears to be the body of a dead lamb. The 
illusion is perfect, and the forms clearly and distinctly defined. 
Around, high hills rise up, and with the exception of a road lead- 
ing over Dunmail Kaise, a pass at the northern end of the valley, 
there is no apparent outlet from Grasmere. The aspect of the 
country under a bright sun is fine, but when the god of day de- 
parts, and evening's shade v/s fall on the sides of the hills, the 
prospect is one of singular beauty. The rich, soft, velvety ver- 
dure peculiar to the humid atmosphere of England becomes mag- 
nificent to the eye in the long twilight, and when the hills are 
covered with it, the effect is exquisite. I rambled for miles 
around the lakes named, and sought out secluded retreats by 
roaring cascades and rapid mountain rills, where it was pleasure 

" To sit on rocks and muse o'er flood and fell, 
Or slowly trace the forest's shady scene." 

I never had a great partiality for the bards of the Lake School, 
and confess myself unable to comprehend much of Wordsworth's 
heavy verse; but I admire their haunts, and agree that they 
exhibited taste in the selection of their homes. Nowhere can 
the poet find scenery better calculated to win him from the world 
than in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Rude, rugged nature is 



160 

there untamed and wild; and when looking down into the chasms 
between the hills, from the crown of Loughrigg Fell, Shellej^'s 
sublime lines flash upon the mind : — 

"Is this the spot where the giant earthquake 
Taught her young ruin ?" 

And in wandering along the roaring streams and quiet meadows 
of the vales, wherein the husbandman labors under the shadow of 
the rocky walls of the mountain, a quiet musing steals into your 
soul, and you wonder, not that England has produced so many 
poets, but that she has produced so few. Almost every English- 
man should be a bard. 

Near Ambleside are some faint traces still visible of a Koman 
fortification, built by that heroic and wonderful people when they 
held possession of that remote and secluded country. They are 
near the head of Windermere, and under the shadows of Lough- 
rigg Fell, and served as a post in olden time for the protection of 
the interests of Rome in the mountain sections of England. A 
road then led over the top of one of the mountains, connecting with 
other military points further north, and at this day tiles are occa- 
sionally dug up, which once formed a part of that paved way. 

After nearly a week's residence at the quiet village, I set out 
on a pedestrian journey to Keswick, at Derwentwater, but unfortu- 
nately was taken ill on the road, and compelled to return. In 
passing the head of llydal Water, I encountered a gypsy camp, 
in which were several of that people. They were a rough, ill- 
looking set, filthy and wretchedly poor, and their general appear- 
ance did not lead me to desire an intimate acquaintance. Their 
tent was pitched under a ledge of rocks, and several of them 
were stretched out on the grass along the lake shore, while an old 
woman was busily engaged in preparing their morning's meal. I 
passed them without entering into conversation, and was entirely 
satisfied to get out of their vicinity, as their vagabond looks fully 
satisfied me that honesty of purpose was not a main feature of 
their characters. I pursued my route for six miles from Amble- 
side, and then returned, and remained until my health was com- 
paratively restored. 



161 

In my invalid state, I took occasional walks and drives in the 
vicinity, and once extended my rambles as for as the church at 
Grasmere. The shrine is now the tomb of Wordsworth, and on 
my visit a neat tablet with a medallion likeness of the poet had 
just been placed in the wall. The bard worshipped at times in 
the edifice, and quietly sleeps where he was wont to listen to the 
strains of the morning hymn. Both he and Byron are buried 
in humble village churches, and both tombs are alike the objects 
of pilgrimages. 

In my strolls around the country, I met several parties of 
Germans with their knapsacks at their sides, slowly walking along, 
and admiring the scenery. They were gentlemanly, and appeared 
much pleased to meet an American. They nearly always took 
me for an Englishman, and treated me as such until I informed 
them otherwise, when they at once became sociable and commu- 
nicative. One of the party usually spoke English, and did the 
conversational part in that language at hotels and in company, 
while the others occasionally put in a word or listened to what 
was said. Several of those whom I met were students from 
Berlin and Heidelberg, passing the summer vacation in England, 
and all of them were sociable, intelligent, and friendly. 

From Lake Windermere to the head of Coniston Water, there 
is a broken country, greatly diversified, which presents some 
splendid prospects. Soon after leaving the village, the tall peaks 
of Langdale Pikes rise upon the sight, and then follow Wether- 
lamb and Coniston Old Man, one of the tallest peaks in England. 
The village of Hawkshead is on the route, and is remarkable 
for being the place at which Wordsworth, Coleridge, and others 
of equal distinction, received the rudiments of their education. 
It is a small, straggling hamlet, in a valley, between the hills 
which line the shores of Windermere and Coniston lakes, and 
never would receive a visit, were it not for its favorable and 
romantic location. Coniston Water is a much more pleasing and 
secluded lake, though smaller than AVindermere. Tall mount- 
ains rise around it, and the village of the same name, at its 
northern extremity, is in every respect handsome. My ride 
through this part of the country was agreeable, and as the driver 

li* 



162 

was an admirer of nature, and well acquainted with the beauties 
of the route, the time was passed profitably and satisfactorily. 
We entered the town of Broughton, and after looking at its 
attractions, I took my departure for Furness Abbey, one of those 
ancient ruins so numerous in England, which owe their origin to 
the monks of old. It is situate in a secluded valley called the 
Glen of Deadly Nightshade, from the quantity of that plant 
which grows there, and its extensive walls bear ample testimony 
to its former greatness. One of the gates of the outer wall still 
remains entire, and the great east window rises to the height of 
fifty-four feet, while the towers and walls around add grandeur 
to the majestic pile. — Like all the abbeys, it is in the Grothic 
style of architecture, and the ivy, as it twines around and through 
the arches and windows, gives ornament to the ruin. At present, 
there is a hotel close to it, where tourists are accommodated, and 
the walks in the grounds have been improved and restored so 
as to afford pleasant rambles to those who love to stroll through 
the retreats once sacred to the eremite and recluse. From Fur- 
ness Abbey to Morecambe Bay is but a short distance, and 
thence passengers are carried by steamboat to Fleetwood, a dis- 
tance of sixteen miles or more. Near Piel (the railway terminus 
from the monastery) is an island, on which are the remains of a 
castle of considerable extent, but now useless and deserted, stand- 
ing a lonely monument of decayed power and greatness in that 
section of Great Britain. I passed through Preston and the old 
town of Wigan, to Liverpool, regretting my inability to complete 
the entire circuit of the English lakes, but content with the beauty 
of those I was fortunate enough to visit. 



OR^ WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 1G3 



CHAPTER Xiy. 

GLASGOW — ITS APPEARANCE — CATHEDRAL AND UNIVERSITY. 

The fogs which occur on the English coast prevent the traveller 
by sea from obtaining good views of the shore, and obscure 
the land during more than half the time. In a trip by steamer 
from Liverpool to the Clyde, I was deprived of the coast 
scenery in consequence of the hazy weather, and although 
the vessel ran tolerably near the shore, no part of it was visible. 
After being at sea all night, we neared Scotland, and at early 
dawn I beheld for the first time 

" Tlie land of brown lieatli and shaggy wood," 

in the shape of Ailsa Craig, a bold conical rock which rises from 
the ocean off the Ayrshire coast. The Frith of Clyde is wide 
and deep, being an arm of the sea extending inland a consider- 
able distance — its northern shores lined with high hills, while 
away in the blue distance loom up the softened outlines of the 
Scottish mountains. The Isle of Arran was soon passed, after 
Ailsa Craig, and then rose to view the Castle and Rock of Dum- 
barton. The city of Greenock and other places on the shore 
commanded our attention, but I saw nothing particularly worthy 
of note, except the walls of Newark Castle, until near the termi- 
nus of the canal which connects the Clyde and Forth, at which 
point rise the ruins of Dunglass Castle, in which is a plain monu- 
ment of some twenty feet in height to the memory of Henry 
Bell, the first successful steam navigator of the Clyde. The walls 
of the castle are overgrown with ivy, and as the old pile stands 
upon a small promontory, it presents a pretty scene. 

The river grows very narrow as the traveller approaches the 
city after leaving Greenock, and the channel is traceable by a 
number of round stone towers, about sixteen feet high, placed 



164 THE FOOTPATII 

at regular distances on both sides of the stream nearly up to 
Glasgow. Each pyramid is surmounted by a wooden cross, and 
the whole number have a fine appearance when seen in perspec- 
tive by one looking either up or down the river. The Clyde is 
not more than two hundred yards wide for four or five miles be- 
low the city, and is extremely difficult of navigation. Glasgow 
lies on both sides of the stream, and presents a beautiful pros- 
pect when approached by the river. The harbor is admirable, 
being wide and convenient, and walled on either side. It was 
crowded with shipping as we entered, and one particular vessel of 
splendid form, with tall tapering spars, was the subject of much 
conversation among our passengers. The English tourists on 
board were lauding her model, and boasting that she was equal 
to any clipper ever built in Yankee-land, taking for granted she 
was British; when a man was seen busy at the color halyards of 
the stranger, and in an instant the starry flag of the great Re- 
public rose beautifully to the mast-head of the saucy craft, and a 
murmur of delight ran along our decks. I felt considerable na- 
tional pride at the incident. As we neared the ship, we read on 
her stern, with some surprise, the words ^^ Liberty — New 
York.'' 

It was Sunday when we landed, and quiet reigned in the town. 
A young man from the Province of New Brunswick and myself 
took a stroll along the Green early in the afternoon, where we 
saw numbers of men and women lying on the grass, barefooted 
and indifferently clad. The women wore a shawl over the head, 
and the men, generally, the old-fashioned Scotch cap. At several 
places stands were erected, from which preachers were addressing 
collections of people, a common thing in Scotland of a Sunday, 
as we afterwards learned. The men were city missionaries, and 
staying at home trying to convert the heathens there, instead of 
going abroad to preach to those less savage. 

The Green is an inclosure on the northern shore of the river, 
within whose limits there is a drive twelve miles in extent. The 
ground is in a pleasant location, and must become a grand park 
at some future period ; but it never will be fashionable so long as 
crowds of ragged men and women are permitted to roll and wal- 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. iTSS 

low together on the grass in broad daylight. There is a fine 
monument to Nelson in the space, one hundred and forty-three 
feet high, said to be a copy of Trajan's Pillar at Kome. 

The streets at the west end of Glasgow are handsome, and far 
more attractive than those of London. The houses are built of an 
ash-colored sandstone, which is easily worked, and as it does not 
readily absorb the smoke of the bituminous coal, it keeps clean 
for a considerable time. Rows of buildings and whole streets 
are constructed of it. Argyle, Buchanan, and Queen Streets are 
the principal thoroughfares, and they are lined with handsome 
shops, dwellings, and public edifices, nearly all of which are of 
the stone alluded to. The Exchange and some of the banks are 
solid, imposing structures. The residences at the west end are 
the finest erections, and command especial notice. They excel, 
in many cases, the much extolled palaces of the fashionable quar- 
ter of London, and are both pretty and clean externally. 

The city lies on very irreguhir ground, and forcibly reminds 
the American of Baltimore in some particulars; a place it very 
much resembles, both in the number of its hills and the variety 
of its monuments. 

In St. George's Square, there is a fluted Doric column to thf*. 
memory of Sir Walter Scott, eighty feet high; and pedestrian 
statues to Sir John Moore, and Watt, the improver of the steam- 
engine ; while in front of the Exchange is a bronze equestrian 
image of Wellington, and in the Irongate, at the Market Cross, 
one of William of Orange. The old part of the city is dull 
and singular. The streets are narrow, the houses high. They 
are mostly inhabited by the poor, and built in a style of 
architecture by no means fascinating. The new streets are 
wide, straight, and clean. They cross each other at right angles, 
and are well paved and lighted. The Bromelaw fronts on the 
Clyde, and is very wide, affording a fine view the entire length of 
the city, looking down stream from the bridge. It is a noble 
avenue, not unlike the Levee at New Orleans in some respects, 
and at times almost as much crowded. The bridge across the 
river is not so large, but in every way as strongly built as Lon- 
don Bridge. The traveller who has visited the English cities 



166 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

before going to Glasgow forms a favorable opinion of the Scottish 
commercial capital, and sees less that is objectionable in its streets 
than will meet his gaze in the majority of the seaports of England. 

The inhabitants are friendly and intelligent, but cautious and 
distrustful. They are active and industrious, and keep their 
streets tolerably free from beggars, so much so as to cause the 
stranger who has been in England to notice the fact. 

Near the city, on a mount once a retreat of the Druids, is a 
modern burial-place called the Necropolis, which contains many 
tombs. The land is high, rugged, and commanding; and it 
affords a fine prospect of the surrounding country. On the 
very summit stands a towering monument to John Knox, 
the Reformer, on the top of which is a fine statue of the stern 
Presbyterian holding a Bible in one hand, and apparently look- 
ing down upon his native city with an ever watchful eye. The 
grounds are tastefully laid out, and many of the tombs are chaste 
and elegant. One to Motherwell, the poet, is particularly good 
on account of the fine bust of the bard it contains. I noticed 
much affectation of grief in the forms and epitaphs of some of the 
tombs, and one or two of them were overstrained attempts at 
originality and eccentricity deserving rebuke. As we were com- 
ing out of the ground, a man in the costume of a laborer was 
applying for admittance, but was not allowed to enter, '' because," 
said the gatekeeper, '^you are not dressed well enough." They 
don't bury poor people in that graveyard, thought I. 

Immediately below the Necropolis, on the opposite bank of the 
Molindinar Burn, located on high ground, stands the ancient 
Cathedral of Glasgow, one of the splendid structures of the 
Catholics, erected as early as 1133. It lies directly in front of 
the statue of the great Reformer, and makes, when viewed from 
the eminence, a fine foreground to the splendid prospect below. 
The crypt is a noble work ; and the roof considered by competent 
judges one of the best specimens of Gothic groining and masonry 
extant. It is within it that Sir Walter Scott laid one of the 
finest scenes in " Rob Roy," and being desirous to learn the precise 
place, I made inquiry of the old sexton. He grew eloquent at 
once, and replied : '•' Yer standin' on it noo, mon. That's just the 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 167 

spot, and there is the column against which the pulpit was raised. 
in which the minister was preaching. Francis Osbaldistone 
leaned against this shaft, and Andrew Fairservice, ye ken him? 
stood alang-side o' Francis, and as he was learned in the true 
doctrines o' the kirk, listened whether the preacher said onything 
contrary to John Knox's views. While they were standin' there, 
Rob Roy cam' in by that door, and, stealing stealthily behind 
Francis, touched his shoulder, and whispered him that Rashleigh 
was in town to assassinate him. Ye knaw the rest. Ah ! yes, 
that's just the vary place ; but there are nae many persons ask me 
aboot it. Ye maun hae read much o' Sir Walter's writing, or 
I'm mista'en." 

I told him that my reading was not extensive, but what it was 
I remembered, and asked him for the great column to which the 
novelist makes allusion. ^'There,'^ said he, pointing to a glo- 
rious supporter of the gloomy crypt. " That's it, an' it's a' solid 
stone and mortar ; and there is the main arch ; eight different 
arches spring from that, and it's considered by architects the finest 
piece o' masonry in Scotland. When her Majesty was here, 
she asked aboot it, and stood just where ye are now when I 
showed it her." The old fellow praised the queen, and, in his 
laudations of her, forgot the splendid work. It is massive and 
wonderful, convincing the modern how superior the ancients were 
in architecture. 

Until within a few years, the building was gradually falling to 
decay, and the crypt was scarcely ever visited in consequence of 
the dampness of the department, and the faint light which entered 
through the choked-up windows. The government sent an archi- 
tect down from London to put it in repair and restore it as far as 
possible ; which work was admirably done, and the old pile is now 
clean and well lighted, affording the traveller an opportunity of 
examining it thoroughly. 

On the wall of the north porch is a slab of marble erected to 
the memory of nine persons named, who, according to the inscrip- 
tion, "suffered at the Cross of Glasgow for their testimony to the 
covenants and works of reformation, because they durst not own 
the authority of the then tyrants destroying the same, betwixt 



168 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

1666 and 1688." Some verses of indifferent merit follow, and 
though the prose record is badly written, it evidently alludes to 
the murders perpetrated during the viceroy alty of James the 
Second in Scotland when Duke of York, and after, while he 
sat on the throne of Great Britain as king. 

The famous university is a sombre, heavy Gothic building, in 
a gloomy part of the olden city, and has no attractions beyond its 
age and the celebrated names connected with it. The principal 
room is a lofty apartment, but slightly furnished, and now used 
as a reading-room by the faculty. The grounds are large, but 
not in good order, although they were then undergoing consider- 
able improvement, and in a few years will be a splendid pro- 
menade. At the eastern extremity, on the side of the hill under 
a row of thorns, is the scene of the encounter between Kashleigh 
and Francis Osbaldistone, so graphically described by Scott in 
^^Rob Hoy." An old gardener conducted me to the spot. "But," 
said he, ''the place is changed since Sir Walter's day." And 
truly it is. The Molindinar Burn is now arched over, and flows 
along under a covering of bricks and mortar, no longer forming 
the main feature in the landscape, nor adding to the beauties of 
the grounds. 

All old cities have something historical to claim attention, and 
those places mentioned in the preceding paragraphs are the princi- 
pal ones in Glasgow. A few days did not allow much opportunity 
for learning the habits of the people, or their social condition. I 
was content with a hasty glance at the city, and not disposed to 
search out places of folly or wretchedness. Mine host was a true 
Scot, and his house abominably dirty, and by no means deserving 
public patronage, although he thought otherwise. 

Before leaving, I went into a bookstore, on one of the principal 
streets, to purchase a copy of Tannahill's Poems, when, observ- 
ing the volume handed me was printed in Belfast, I asked 
whether it was perfect. '' That I can't tell," replied the shop- 
man; "but suspect not, as the only things really perfect we can 
get from Ireland are — beggars !" It appears that Pat and Sawney 
don't love each other violently. 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. ' 169 



CHAPTER XV. 

AYR — EURNS'S COTTAGE — KIRK ALLOWAY, AND ^^TIIE BANKS 
O' DOON." 

The lands made celebrated by Burns are now included in the 
European tour, and he who does not visit them is considered de- 
ficient in taste. I went to Ayr, through the towns of Paisley, 
Irvin, and Troon, and passed several hours in peaceful reflection 
on the classic ''banks o' bonnie Doon.'^ The town of Ayr lies 
on both sides of the river from which it takes its name, and within 
sight of the ocean. The '' auld brig" is decidedly and undenia- 
bly ugly, with a narrow thoroughfare for foot-passengers only. 
The main arch is sprung, leading the observer to think the boast 
made by the structure, in the poem, 

''I'll be a brig when j^ou're a shapeless cairn!" 

will most signally fail of fulfilment, as the new viaduct is both 
solid and in good condition. 

Ayr is outrageously filthy, very badly paved, has crooked 
streets, considerable shipping, an old castle, once famous, but now 
a soldier's barracks. There is a fine statue of Wallace, the great 
patriot of Scotland, in a niche in front of the Town Hall, sculp- 
tured by Thom, the famous self taught artist of Ayrshire ; and it 
redeems the town from contempt. 

The day was delightfully clear, and favorable to pedestrianism. 
I walked out to the birthplace of the poet, along a pleasant road, 
lined, the greater part of the distance, with hedges of thorns. On 
some parts of the route there were splendid fields waving with 
yellow grain, ready for the sickle, and old and young were busy 
gathering the bountiful harvest. 

At a turn in the road, about two miles from the town, I sud- 
denly came upon a cottage, over the door of which there is a sign 
15 



170 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

setting forth that within its walls Robert Burns, the great hard 
of Scotland, was born. I entered the ''clay biggin," and was 
shown into the room in which the poet first drew breath, and 
passed a half hour under the straw-thatched roof, where pilgrims 
from every section of the world have been to pay homage to the 
genius of the Ayrshire ploughman. The walls are adorned with 
some good engravings, illustrative of different works of Burns, and 
a likeness of the bard. One of the pictures there, at my visit, 
was a scene from the "Cotter's Saturday Night," wherein the 
patriarchal sire is represented reading from the " big ha' Bible" 
before offering up a petition to the throne of mercy. The very 
room in which I sat suggested the scene to the bard, and there he 
often witnessed the incident he has so beautifully described in 
never-dying verse. The frame around the portrait of the poet is cut 
and carved full of the names of visitors, who have in this way 
sought celebrity. The book for the signatures of pilgrims was 
handed to me, and on looking over its pages I noticed the name 
of " A. Tennyson," written in a hand as delicate as the breathings 
of his own muse. The simple line had far more real admiration 
for the bard in it, in my eyes, than the many other names on 
the page, to which were attached stupid verses and senseless prose. 
The ruins of Alloway Kirk are a short distance from the cot- 
tage, and near the monument of the bard on the " banks and braes 
o' bonnie Doon." The old bell still hangs in the solitary belfry, 
and swings when " chill November's surly blasts" hurry furiously 
through the roofless and lonely house of prayer. All the wood- 
w^ork of the edifice has been carried off as mementos, and the 
burial-ground is a mausoleum for the dead, many of whom have 
been brought miles to be buried there. The tomb of Burns's 
father stands immediately in front of the church, and around are 
the graves of many who made a last request to be interred in the 
ground made celebrated by the genius of the peasant poet. The 
monument of the bard is near the church, and between it and 
the " Auld brig o' Boon," on which Tarn's mare Meggy met with 
her misfortune. The grounds around the tribute are tastefully 
laid out, and rich in flowers. The vestibule of the temple con- 
tains a marble bust of the bard, which, for beauty, exceeds any 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 171 

head I ever saw represented in sculpture. It is more than beau- 
tiful — it is glorious; and if it be a faithful likeness of Burns, 
then was he one of the noblest of men in form as well as mind. 
There is the high and comprehensive forehead — the bare temples, 
so strongly indicative of poetic excellence — and the massive brow 
and well developed organs, which so clearly indicate the giant 
intellect. It is the very soul of the poet, in inspiring thought, 
jQxed in triumphant marble, as though the artist had caught the 
expression of the deepest and purest inspiration as it lit up the face 
of the poet, and stamped it forever on imperishable Parian stone. 
The appearance is divine, and the pallid marble almost breathes 
thought. The waving locks fall in thick clusters over the ample 
forehead, and the rich drapery rests in soft folds on the breast 
and shoulders of the figure. In a case in the same department 
are the Bibles presented by Burns to "Highland Mary," and 
several other relics of the bard. 

I plucked a fragrant rose from the garden, and walked down to 
the crystal, gurgling Boon, immediately along-side the ancient 
bridge, which with one high and splendid arch spans the famous 
stream. The scenery is pretty, and the thick umbrageous wood 
on the banks, and the twining ivy which clings to the "keystone 
of the brig," and hangs in rich festoons over the walls, give a 
double charm to the secluded spot. I there met an intelligent, 
gentlemanly young Scotchman, and a beautiful girl, who, I 
strongly suspected, was not his sister. They entered into conver- 
sation with me, and became quite sociable. He was on the eve of 
departure for India, and had come, perhaps for the last time, to 
pass a few hours on "the banks and braes of bonnie Boon" before 
leaving his affianced bride and native land for the burning sands 
and sultry suns of a distant tropical clime. We wandered along 
the banks of the stream, and passed several hours agreeably 
together, after which I returned to Ayr, taking with me some 
ivy leaves, and my stolen rose as mementos of a pleasant visit to 
one of the places made world-renov/ned by genius ! 



172 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 



CHAPTEK XYI. 

THE SCOTTISH LAKES — AN INCIDENT ON LOCH KETURIN. 

From Glasgow down the Clyde, past Kelvin Grove and Dum- 
barton's bonny dell, to where the frowning rocks overshade the 
broad river, and then on, up the banks of Leven Water, and past 
the monument to Smollett whic-h rises on its shores, to Balloch at 
the foot of Loch Lomond, occupies but little time, and affords a 
pleasant treat to him who takes delight in fine scenery. A small 
steamer traverses the inky waters of the "queen of Scottish lakes,'^ 
and takes its passengers under the shadows of the rugged hills 
which line the shores, thereby giving the tourist the advantage of 
viewing both sides of the Loch in ascending and descending. I 
embarked early in the morning, when the mists were slowly roll- 
ing up the mountain sides before the rays of the sun, which pene- 
trated their vapory forms, and soon was launched upon Loch 
Lomond's surface. The lake is about twenty-three miles long and 
five in width at the widest place, and studded at the southern end 
with a number of small islands, which sit in its black waters like 
emerald gems in a sea of ebony. The hills which line the shores 
are mostly of a pyramidal form, and resemble the highlands of 
the Hudson very much ; in fact, the scenery on the North Kiver is 
equal, if not superior, to the wildest on Loch Lomond, including 
the tall peaks of Ben Voirlich, Ben Duchray, Ben Arthur, and 
the world-famed and cloud-crowned Ben Lomond. At the north- 
ern extremity of the lake the waters become deep and narrow, 
and the huge hills rise to the very clouds on either shore. Ben 
Lomond does not, however, present such a bold front as one would 
suppose, and its summit is too flat and rounded to impress the 
mind with a sense of awe, or even intense admiration. The mists 
shut out the distant hills at the north, but south, as far as the 
eye could see, the view was unbroken, and the bright rays of the 



173 

sun lit up the mountain tops and tipped the trees with gold. I 
met a gentleman from Philadelphia on the boat, and he and I 
enjoyed the scenery together, until we arrived at Inversnaid land- 
ing, at which point I parted with my townsman, and set out on a 
solitary walk to Loch Keturin, over the bleak and desolate country 
which lies between the two lakes. Ben Lomond was hard to climb, 
and after ascending its sides for some distance, the vapors en- 
veloped me in their cold embrace, and prudence dictated a retreat, 
which was soon accomplished. To have reached the mountain's 
summit was possible, but foolish, as the rain began to fall and the 
top was clothed in clouds, while below the landscape was obscured 
from sight by a thick haze. I therefore trudged on alone along 
a dreary road over the heath, so often of yore trod by Rob Roy 
and the warriors of his clan, and enjoyed in solitude the scenery 
of the desolate landscape. At one point on the road, I crossed an 
old stone bridge which spans a roaring mountain hum, and ascend- 
ing a hill came to the ruins of Inversnaid fort, a military post, 
erected by the government, in 1713, to protect the district against 
the inroads of the clan MacGregor. The lonely fortress is now 
deserted, and both the soldiers who occupied it, and the mountain 
chieftains whose vengeance it often roused, have passed to another 
world. I sat down within its walls, and after a short rest rambled 
around the remains, near which I discovered several tombstones ; 
but the inscriptions were so much defaced that it would have 
puzzled Old Mortality himself to clearly decipher them. All 
that I could learn was that they covered the graves of some 
soldiers of the Buffs who died while on duty at the fort in 1750. 
The fortress was once the residence of General Wolfe, and it is 
stated that he received the rudiments of his military education 
within its limits, in the days of border warfare. 

I stopped in my walk at the cottage of Rob Roy, and convers- 
ed a short time with several Highlanders in that smoked and 
straw-thatched abode. They live better than the Irish peasantry 
who inhabit the country in the vicinity of Cork, and are blest 
with a degree of education above what would be expected from 
their isolated condition. The hut is lighted with windows; and 
bedding and household furniture afford the occupants comfort and 

15* 



174 THE EOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

comparative ease. The men were a rougli-looking set, and their 
appearance did not lead me to think they would be very desir- 
able companions in a forest of a dark night, although I may be 
mistaken in my estimate of their characters. The women, with 
one exception, were anything but handsome ', and she who was 
the exception was as pretty a little lassie as ever melted the 
obdurate heart of a crusty bachelor. The hospitality of the wo- 
men was tendered me in a glass of ^^ mountain dew,'^ and as the 
morning was damp and chilly, I found the liquid agreeable and 
refreshing. 

About midway betwen the two large bodies of water, I passed 
a pretty little lake, called Loch Arklet, from which flows a crystal 
stream which falls into Loch Lomond at Inversnaid, and forms at 
that place a beautiful mountain cascade, of considerable height. 
The dark shadows of the Highlands cover the entire surface of 
the valley, and the huge peak of Ben Lomond rises like a wall at 
its western extremity, and seemingly shuts out all communica- 
tion with the world that way, while to the east the waters of 
Loch Keturin afford an outlet from the secluded glen. I reached 
that lake in good time, and met a party of persons waiting for 
the steamer, among whom was a young Prussian, a professor, 
from one of the colleges at Magdeburg, and a nobler-looking man 
never crossed my path. He was tall and finely formed ; wore a 
thick mustache, but no other part of his beard, which became 
him wonderfully well, and set off one of the handsomest faces in 
the world. We were foreigners, and a mutual feeling of friend- 
ship sprung up between us at once, which improved and strength- 
ened while we continued together. We embarked upon the little 
steamer, and sailed slowly down the transparent lake, enjoying 
the rich scenery of its shores. The tall peaks of Benvenue and 
Benean arose clear and distinct to view as we approached their 
giant forms, and every portion of the country became familiar 
through Scott's graphic descriptions, from the rich sopnery around 
the fairy-like Trossachs, to the classic island of "the Lady of the 
Lake.'^ We took up our quarters at the hotel for the night, and, 
as the moon was in its full, enjoyed a treat not often shared by 
the visitor to Loch Keturiq. As soon as the twilight faded out, 



OR^ WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 175 

ray German friend^ myself, and several others procured a 
skiff, and shot from the dark shadows of Benvenue on to the 
moon-lit water. There we were in all our glory, and a young 
Highlander, who was of our company, could restrain his enthu- 
siasm no longer, and under the influence of the time, place, and 
scene, sang in glorious tones the ^' MacGregor's Gathering.'^ It 
was the very hour and spot for it, and, as the musical strains of 
his voice gave sound to the words — 

The moon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the brae, 
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day : 

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich ! 

we set up a shout in chorus to his song, which echoed again and 
again, until Benean answered to Benvenue, and the very mists on 
the brae quivered in the sound, as though they once more were 
disturbed by the cry of Clan Alpine. Ay ! it was inspiring, 
and my German friend took as much delight in it as if he had 
been a Scot bred and born. The young Highlander stood in the 
stern of the boat, with his plaid over his shoulders, and with pa- 
triotic enthusiasm, heightened by our applause, finished the song. 
As each verse was completed, we made the air tremble with our 
shouts, and at the following stanza the whole of us arose, and 
sent up such a cry as almost split the rocky sides of Benvenue : — 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, 
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles. 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalich ! 

The Highlander sang the last line as if he meant every word 
of it, and the shrill sound of his voice came back from the land 
through our wild cheers, like the sharp cutting of a two-edged 
sword. 

The mists began to gather along the shores, and, after proceed- 
ing up the lake about two miles, our boatmen turned the skiff 
homeward, and the young Scot sang, with spirit and enthusiasm, 
the wild lyric which Sir \Yalter puts in the mouths of Roderich 
Dhu's retainers while sailing down the very lake on which we 
were gayly moving. It was nppropriate and splendid : — 



176 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

** Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands, 
Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine ; 
! that the rosebud that graces yon islands 
Were wi'eathed in a garland around him to twine ! 
! that some seedling gem 
Worthy such noble stem 
Honored and blest in their shadow might grow ! 
Loud should Clan Alpine, then, 
Ring from the deepmost glen, 
Roderigh Vich Alpine, dhu, ho! iero." 

The oarsmen stretched cheerfully to their work, and we reached 
the landing at a seasonable hour, and returned to the hotel highly 
pleased with our moonlight excursion on Loch Keturin, and al- 
most unwilling to seek the embraces of the drowsy god. 

The following morning was beautifully clear, and our time was 
spent in rowing about the lake or in walks along its shores, on 
the land made poetic ground by Scott. The mountains are cloth- 
ed almost to their summits with wood, and the valleys are beau- 
tiful retreats. The lover of poetry is familiar with the poem in 
which the landscape is described ; and it would be folly in me to 
transcribe what is in nearly every man's recollection, and what 
has become trite from constant repetition. We took stage in the 
afternoon for Callendar, and rode over every inch of ground 
traversed by Fitz James in the chase. The smaller lakes were 
soon passed, and then we came to the scene of encounter between 
the Gael and the Saxon ! The whip pointed out the place where 
Roderich astonished Fitz James, by summoning his clan, and 
dosed us to the full with line after line of the poem. Our com- 
pany grew merry, and a flask of '-mountain dew" circulated free- 
ly among us as we approached the spot, of yore the gathering 
ground of Clan Alpine. Near the place is a thick wood, said by 
the Highlanders to be the resort of the river demon, who delights 
to forebode and witness evil on the spot. Our company did not, 
however, meet with the seer of destiny, and a more cheerful set 
of fellows never passed through the " wood of lamentation" 
than on that occasion. The driver looked solemn, and called in 
vain to us to respect the place. His warning was useless; the 
Scotch fluid was exhilarating; and we had the consolation of 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 177 

knowing tbat it was by no means bad. The opposition stage was 
ahead, and on dashed our horses to overtake it, which was done in 
gallant style at the point where the remains of a Roman fortifica- 
tion stand as a monument of the power of that great people, and 
near the scene of combat between Fitz James and Koderich 
Dhu. We stopped at the village of Callendar, where my Ger- 
man friend parted company with us, and pursued his way to 
the Highlands, while we shortly after proceeded on to Stirling. 
The country, as we receded from the mountains, became highly 
cultivated, and by the time we reached the banks of the rapid 
Teith, fields of waving grain and fine parks encircled us. "We 
passed the town of Doune, on the banks of the stream named, and 
had a view of its ruined castle as we crossed a splendid bridge 
which spans the river a few yards above the old stronghold. It 
is square in form, and its walls are eighty feet high and ten thick. 
The stream is a rapid, roaring body of water, and flows along-side 
the fortress, which was once the residence of Mary Queen of Scots, 
when she was in the heyday of her love for Darnley, at which 
period she and her husband occupied it as a hunting-seat. It was 
built by Murdoch, Duke of Albany, who was afterwards executed 
within sight of it on a hill at Stirling. Wc entered that old city 
at an early hour, and I wended my way through narrow, crooked, 
and steep streets to the castle, which stands on a hill of great 
height, the western side of which rises almost perpendicularly from 
the valley of Stirling. The castle is a barracks for soldiers, and 
heavy guns bristle on the walls as formidably as of old, when 
border warfare and intestine commotions made it necessary to 
keep it in repair and well defended. A soldier guided me through 
the fortress, and pointed out the various fields of battle in the 
neighborhood, twelve of which are to be seen from the eminence. 
The winding Forth runs through the valley to the north of the 
town, and countless well-cultivated fields lie in the splendid plain 
below. The scene, with one exception, surpasses all I ever be- 
held, and repays a man doubly over for the trouble of ascending 
the hill. To the north, the Grampian and Ochil Hills bound the 
view; while to the west the frowning summits of Ben Lomond, 
Ben Nevis, and Benvenue rise to the skies and form a barrier to 



178 

the sight. Toward the east, the eye can trace the horizon resting 
on the German Ocean, and the turrets and walls of the distant 
Castle of Edinburgh; while in the foreground are the field of 
Bannockburn and the mountain-town of Stirling. I remained for 
some time enjoying the prospect, and descended in time to visit 
the Marathon of Scotland, and tread its hallowed sod. The grain 
grows luxuriantly from its soil, and the sickle of the husbandman, 
instead of the sword of the warrior, gathers from its surface at 
present the harvest of peace and plenty, instead of that of tears 
and death. 

The old church of Stirling is divided into two places of wor- 
ship, in one of which James the Sixth was crowned, when but an 
infant, on which occasion John Knox preached the sermon. It 
was once a Grayfriars or Franciscan fane, and its splendid 
Gothic ornaments look too rich for a Presbyterian house of prayer. 
Many curious scenes have been witnessed in its walls, among 
which was that of the Regent Earl of Arran abjuring the Catho- 
lic faith, and avowing the Protestant doctrine, which he subse- 
quently renounced. 

The Castle is one of the four military fortresses which, by the 
articles of union between England and Scotland, are to be for- 
tified forever. It is a celebrated place, and the scene of the mur- 
der of Earl Douglas by James the Second of Scotland. Queen 
Mary was crowned within its walls, and there her son and grand- 
son were baptized. It has been the place of execution of men of 
distinction, and near it Murdoch, Duke of Albany, Duncan, Earl 
of Lennox, his father-in-law, and his sons were beheaded in 1424, 
within sight of their extensive possessions, and their Castle of 
Doune. 

The town is irregularly built, but the situation is beautiful and 
commanding, and no one will be likely to visit it with regret, if 
he goes for pleasure. There is a noted bridge over the Forth, in 
the valley at the north-west part of the town, which is quite old 
and celebrated in history. Wallace defeated the English near it, 
and Archbishop Hamilton was hung in his canonical robes, on a 
scaffold erected on it, in 1571 — a strange way the people of those 
days had of exhibiting their admiration for the clergy in general, 
and bishops in particular. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 179 



CHAPTER XYII. 

Scotland's capital. 

It is not an agreeable thing to be set down at midnight in a 
city where one has no acquaintance, and where everything is 
strange, particularly if the night be moonless and the stars dull. 
My entrance into the Scottish capital was at such a time and 
under such a sky, and it was with some difficulty that I succeeded 
in obtaining comfortable lodgings for the balance of the night in 
the modern Athens. The railway stations are in a hollow be- 
tween the old and new towns, and the finest street in the hilly 
city faces the valley on one side, while the worst-looking and 
tallest buildings face it on the other. I went up on to the level 
ground of the new street, and before me arose the superb Gothic 
monument erected by the inhabitants of Edinburgh to Sir Wal- 
ter Scott. Its elaborate ornaments and groined arches were lost 
in shadow, but the tall and delicate structure pointed heaven- 
ward, and its graceful outline and exquisite form won my admira- 
tion. It was too late, however, to pay much attention to it, and 
I was too weary to devote my time to that purpose, so I sought 
out a place of shelter, and after a good night's rest and pleasant 
dreams awoke to garish day in the seven-hilled city of the north. 

Princes Street was early thronged with pedestrians, and the 
busy tradesman and gaping tourist formed a part of its motley 
crowd. Here passed a soldier dressed in the scarlet uniform of 
the English army, there a tall Highlander in the ancient costume 
of his clan, while amidst the moving mass flashed, from the most 
tauntingly cut bonnets in the world, the bright eyes of the Scot- 
tish lassies. I fell into the human current, and floated uncon- 
sciously along in its tide until under the cliffs of Calton Hill, on 
the summit of which stand monuments to Playfair, Dugald Stew- 
art, and other distinguished Scotsmen, and a tall, ungainly, tower- 



180 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

looking abomination called Nelson's monument. I ascended to 
the top of the mount, and although it rises beside the most fash- 
ionable and thronged thoroughfare in the town, I was as secluded '■ 
and solitary as if I had been in a deserted city. The mementos 
and cenotaphs of distinguished men were around me, and in front 
arose the ruins of a splendid Grecian temple, originally intended 
to commemorate the heroes who fell at Waterloo, but for want of 
means abandoned to the mercy of the winds in an unfinished 
state, and now its classic columns bear testimony to the failure 
and ambition of the projectors. The design is that of the Par- 
thenon at Athens, and the half finished structure stands in solemn 
grandeur on the eminence as an evidence at once of the taste and 
the meanness of the citizens of Edinburgh. The view from this 
elevated point takes in the whole of the city, with the towering 
cliff of Arthur's Seat at one end, and the old castle of the Scot- 
tish capital at the other ; while seaward appears the Frith of Forth 
and the German Ocean, and northward the Ochils, East Lomond, 
and distant Grampian hills. The west is bounded by the High- 
lands which encircle the lakes, and the tall peaks of Ben Nevis 
and Benvenue are to be seen plainly in favorable weather. The 
high houses in the old town, which rise from the valley between 
the two sections, ascend to ten stories in some instances, and their 
unpoetic appearance detracts greatly from the beauty of the city. 
Princes Street runs immediately westward from the hill, and that 
broad and splendid avenue presents a prospect of human activity 
and architectural beauty not often beheld elsewhere. 

The Scott monument rises in a fine park at the side of the long 
thoroughfare, and beyond, some distance, the eye rests upon an 
elegant marble edifice called the Royal Institution, over the en- 
trance to which is a colossal statue to Queen Victoria, in a reclin- 
ing position, holding the sceptre in her hand. As the sight runs 
over the city, other objects arrest the attention, among which are 
the lofty spire of the hall in which the General Assembly of the 
Kirk of Scotland holds its sessions, and the monuments to Lord 
Melville and Bobert Burns. The town and port of Leith are 
visible, and the country for miles around, so that the eye seldom 
tires of the prospect. I descended and walked to the Scott memo- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 181 

rial, the grounds around wbich were opened to the public that 
day for the first time, and entered the splendid edifice. The site 
is badly chosen, and destroys much of the imposing beauty of the 
structure. The main hall of the temple contains a faithfully exe- 
cuted full-length likeness of the great writer in marble, with his 
favorite dog at his side, and several of the niches in more elevated 
parts of the structure are filled with statues of difi'erent characters 
in Sir Walter's works. The design is exquisite, being in the 
florid Gothic style of architecture, and was furnished by a young 
man entirely unknown to fame until declared, by a committee 
appointed to select a plan for the monument, the successful com- 
petitor. He was a self-taught architect, and studied the splendid 
Gothic edifices of Great Britain when a journeyman mason. He 
walked from town to town, and made drawings of the beautiful 
masterpieces of his chosen profession wherever he found them, 
and, untrammelled by schools or the advice of too ardent friends, 
perfected himself in his favorite pursuit. Death unfortunately 
deprived the world of his talents before the splendid edifice was 
completed which his original mind gave birth to, and another 
finished and successfully carried out what he so admirably de- 
signed. I ascended and met a Norwegian sea captain at the top 
who had been at Philadelphia, and as we were both strangers we 
joined company for the balance of the day. He had sailed from that 
port for the West Indies some time during 1850, and mistaking 
a light on a headland of one of the Antilles, had run his vessel on a 
reef, and lost her entirely, and was then in Edinburgh endeavor- 
ing to purchase a steamer for the Baltic trade. 

The highest niches of the monument are occupied by figures 
in red sandstone of various prominent personages in the works 
of Scott, and that of Dominie Sampson is so admirably executed 
that the beholder cannot resist laughing at the representation of 
the horrified sectarian, who, with upraised hands and face expres- 
sive of unmistakable fright and astonishment, is exclaiming, with 
fervor, '^ Prodigious !" I laughed aloud at the horror-stricken 
visage and figure of the Dominie, and felt fully reimbursed for my 
trouble in climbing 287 steps to get a look from the topmost 
gallery of the monument, without taking into consideration the 
16 



182 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

view. The best of the remaining figures is that of the ^' Last 
Minstrel" playing on his harp 3 but none of the balance, not 
even the hag Meg Merrilies, is so clearly individualized as the 
affrighted Dominie. 

The city of Edinburgh, like that of Eome, is located on seven 
hills, and the pedestrian finds a great variety of mount and 
valley wherever he goes. "We strolled around and through the 
interesting portions of the picturesque capital, after leaving the 
monument, and ascended to the old castle, and with commend- 
able curiosity examined its battlements and famous halls. The 
room in which James the Sixth was born was honored with our 
presence, and an official personage exhibited to us the window from 
which the royal prince was lowered in a basket when but eight 
days old, by some of the Protestant party, and carried to Stirling. 
The walls of the apartment are decorated with devices and inscrip- 
tions, bearing upon the events connected with the place, and the 
date of renovation. The repairs were made at the instigation of 
James after he was crowned King of England, and at his first visit 
to his native city after he ascended the English throne. The 
room is miserably small, and approached through a large hall. A 
loquacious fellow employed by the government relates the events 
connected with the place to as many as can get into it at once, 
and as he is compelled to repeat the story fifty times a day, he goes 
through it as if he were reading prayers to a sleepy congrega- 
tion, who take no interest in the service. In an apartment adja- 
cent are two portraits of James and Mary; that of the mother 
being a beautiful picture of a splendid woman, and that of the 
son an unmistakable likeness of his pedantic majesty. The crown 
jewels are also shown ; but they are not wonderful, nor is a man 
repaid for standing in a crowded and darkened room to view them 
by gas-light. The walls of the castle are protected by heavy 
guns, one of which is very large, and known by the name of Mons 
Meg. The story goes that it was cast at Mons, in Flanders, but 
it wants confirmation, and people don't much care to pry into 
either its history or its chamber, for they learn nothing satisfac- 
tory of the first, and by looking into the second they are sure to 
have a sentry bellowing in their ears, '' Go away from that gun," 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN, 183 

as if there were clanger of it being carried off in some curiosity 
hunter's pocket, a thing not very easily accomplished when we 
take into consideration that its length is about fifteen feet, and 
its weight in proportion to its size. While in the castle, I endea- 
vored to find the point at which Randolph and his daring followers 
entered the fortress in 1313, and recaptured it from the astonished 
English ; but all my attempts were vain. The sentries were on 
the spot, and ^^no admittance there" was sure to greet me whenever 
I advanced toward the place. The old and formidable-looking" 
fortification stands on a hill which rises perpendicularly on three 
sides from a plain, and can be approached only from the east 
through a street in the old town. The houses are built up to the 
walls which inclose the parade-ground, and one of them is 
pointed out as having been in former times the residence of 
Allan Ramsay, the author of the ^'Gentle Shepherd." It 
bears no evidence of gentility at present externally, and no one 
would suppose that it had ever been a favorite haunt of the muses. 
High Street runs eastward from the castle, and terminates in the 
Canongate, near John Knox's house. We walked down its steep 
surface some distance, and, turning to the right near the old 
cathedral, crossed the bridge called after George the Fourth, and 
thence passed on to the Grassmarket and West Bow, once 
the main avenue by which the elevated parts of the old town 
were reached, and through which malefactors in olden times were 
led to execution. My companion was by no means well posted 
in Scottish history, and I volunteered to hunt out celebrated 
localities for our mutual gratification. 

The Grassmarket was formerly the place of public execution, 
and I knew that the Porteous mob hung their victim on that spot. 
We found a stone cross placed in the pavement, in the centre of the 
street, and learned that it was there to mark the precise locality of 
the gallows in other times, and that thousands of persons suffered 
death where it was. On that very spot the enraged and deter- 
mined populace made the villain Porteous pay the penalty of his 
rascality, and near there Wilson, the malefactor, effected the 
wonderful escape of his companion in crime. The West Bow has 
witnessed, however, other scenes besides executions, and other 



184 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

processions besides those of criminals going to the scaffold, for it 
was through that avenue that Oliver Cromwell entered the city 
of Edinburgh, the victorious and triumphant conqueror of Scot- 
land — and kings and princes innumerable have graced it with 
their presence. 

When a man is near a place made celebrated by remarkable 
occurrences, there is some excuse for his prying curiosity, if he 
looks out the locality ; and if he do not, he is but a poor tourist, 
and had better have remained at home. I was aware that the 
Grassmarket was not far from the scene pf Burke's infernal mur- 
ders, and, pursuing our course westwardly, we entered a narrow 
street called the West Port, and threaded its crooked and steep 
way. The angles of the curves contract the view so much as to 
make a person feel as if completely hemmed in, without any 
chance of egress, when he enters the street a short distance; and 
as the people who reside in it are a wretched set, the place ap- 
peared to me to be the very spot for such inhuman amusement as 
that practised by the noted monster. We found the house in 
which the wretch lived, and that was satisfactory. We had no 
curiosity to enter it, and soon made the best of our way to a more 
civilized and inviting part of the world, perfectly content with 
what we had seen, and pleased to find that we escaped without 
^'Burking'' some walking ambassadors from the clothing of the 
inhabitants of that classic quarter of modern Athens. 

The capital of Scotland is extremely picturesque, and presents 
a series of the most romantic views from whatever point a person 
chooses to survey it. At one place a bridge spans a valley, and 
crosses the houses of a subterranean town, while at another near 
by the street leads to the summit of a hill where the houses are 
so elevated, both in situation and in stories, as to appear as if they 
formed a part of a city in the clouds. In fact, the modern Athens, 
as the inhabitants delight to style Edinburgh, is hills and hollows, 
and if a man don't like its lower regions, he can go up to its hea- 
ven whenever he wants to. 

Its natural situation is commanding and exceedingly beautiful, 
and many of the public buildings are remarkably fine; but, un- 
fortunately, the ungainly houses in the old town come too near 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 185 

the splendid edifices of the new, and the walls of the ten story 
dwellings, which present such a gloomy aspect when viewed from 
Princes Street, lead the observer to the conclusion that Napoleon 
was right when he said that there was but one step from the sub- 
lime to the ridiculous, as it is but little more than that from the 
splendid monument to Scott, which is the perfection of Gothic 
architecture, to the scarred and towering houses on the other side 
of the hollow, which are the veriest abortions of the distempered 
imagination of an insane architect. In the Canongate are some 
singular old dwellings with the second story projecting over the 
pavement, and the fronts strangely ornamented. John Knox's 
house is on that street, and at present the old structure presents 
a tolerably clean appearance, although it is located in a part of 
the city by no means remarkable for the cleanliness of the in- 
liabitants or of the avenue. The people hold the ancient building 
in reverence; but for all that allow a publican to occupy a portion 
of it, and sell gin and whiskey in pennyworths within its walls. 

Holyrood Palace is a large quadrangular structure, situate in a 
valley between the eastern extremity of Calton Hill and Arthur's 
Seat, and principally interesting on account of its having been 
the scene of the murder of Rizzio by Darnley and his fellow-con- 
spirators. The old woman who bows strangers through the apart- 
ments of Mary is a fair specimen of the ancient cicerone, and be- 
comes the place wonderfully. She dresses in black, and when in 
the room once occupied by the unfortunate princess, speaks in a 
whisper to her auditors, and commands the utmost attention as 
she describes in solemn tones the events connected with the mur- 
der, and the articles in the apartment. The bed in which Mary 
slept the last time she was in Holyrood House is exhibited, with 
her work-basket and dressing-case, and in the room adjoining the 
sleeping apartment of the princes is a portrait of Rizzio, at an 
early age. If the Italian was as handsome as the picture, then 
there was no doubt some cause for Darnley's jealousy, and it is 
not injustice to Mary to suppose that her susceptible heart had 
its secret yearnings for the handsome musician. The old lady is 
one of the fixtures of the place, and shows, with a pious anxiety 4j 
for their preservation, the spots of Rizzio's gore which stain the 

16* 



186 ' THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

floor. Myself and companion were disposed to doubt the genuine- 
ness of the blood, and received a sound lecture from the ancient 
dame for our incredulity. She was shocked at our infidelity, and 
almost screamed aloud when she heard us express our disbelief. 
We appeased her anger by apologizing for our hastily uttered 
doubts, and were conducted through the room occupied by Charles 
the Second when he visited the house, and then into the great 
hall where of yore the Scottish lords were wont to assemble, and 
which Oliver Cromwell turned into a barracks for his soldiers 
during his stay in Edinburgh. The walls of this apartment are 
ornamented with what are said to be the portraits of the Scottish 
kings, but they are nearly all alike, and evidently painted by the 
same hand. Each face has a nose on it that rises like the peak of 
Ben Lomond, and looks more like a carbuncle than the nasal ap- 
pendage of a monarch. The old lady expects a fee from each visit- 
or, and no one escapes her without paying for her services. There 
were several persons with us, and, as we were leaving, myself and 
companion presented her with a small coin for her labor, and were 
going, when she laid her hand upon my shoulder, and demanded 
pay for a " cannie Scot" whom she thought to be of our party, 
and who was quietly getting to the door without paying for his 
share of her eloquence. I denied the fellow, and she bellowed at 
the top of her hysterical voice — "Stop that man; he hasn't paid 
me ;" and, turning to me, she continued, " Til hold you till he 
comes V I laughed heartily at her, and as Sawney returned and 
settled the score, I took my departure, completely satisfied with 
my visit to one part of Holyrood, and wended my way to the ruins 
of the old abbey. A man conducted us through the fallen chapel 
and over the tombs of defunct kings and nobles. The rich carv- 
ings, the crumbling columns, and deserted cloisters had a charm 
for me far beyond the dusty rooms we had just left, and I derived 
a melancholy pleasure in contemplating the decaying splendors of 
the sacred fane. The great east window still remains, and the 
confessional of Mary is shown with considerable solemnity to the 
visitor. The church has been used at different periods by three 
distinct sects of Christians, Catholics, Episcopalians, and Presby- 
terians ; but each denomination has had its day within the walls, 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 187 

and now the officious menials of the Duke of Hamilton exhibit 
its tombs and architectural beauties to the lovers of the old and 
remarkable, and obsequiously bow the stranger through its clois- 
ters; its gallerieS; and its holy aisles. I am no sectarian ; but 

"The faintest relics of a shrine, 
Of any worship, summon thoughts divine" 

within my breast, and I love to ramble in reflective mood among 
the hallowed and splendid ruins of the monastic houses of the 
monks of old. 

The other places of interest in Edinburgh are Arthur's Seat, 
the University, and museums. The dark hill rises toweringly 
above the city, and commands a splendid and glorious prospect. 
I visited it several times during my week's residence in the ca- 
pital, and never regretted having climbed to its summit. It is 
always ascended by tourists, and a stranger not unfrequently meets 
on its top representatives from all the nations of Northern Europe, 
and delegates from the Republic of the Western World. Its ut- 
most height is eight hundred feet above the level of the sea, and 
from that point, looking south, one sees Craig Millar Castle and 
the town of Dalkeith, with the Lammermuir and Pentland Hills 
in the distance ; while to the east the German Ocean and Frith 
of Forth lie as if at the spectator's feet, and the distant point of 
Preston Pans, celebrated for the engagement fought there between 
the troops of Prince Charles and those of the government in the 
rebellion of 1715, is in full view. The ruins of St. Anthony's 
Chapel, so graphically described by Scott, stand on a cliff, or spur 
of the Salisbury Crags, and the cottage of Davie Deans is pointed 
out between the highest peak of the mountain and the castellated 
and picturesque city. 

The colleges and museums of Edinburgh do not differ materially 
from those of other countries, and a description of this class of 
institutions in one section of the world can be appropriately ap- 
plied to all. The hospitals and charitable establishments of the 
city are numerous and well conducted, and the philanthropist will 
derive both pleasure and knowledge from a visit to these institu- 
tions of the Scottish capital. 



188 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

During my sojourn there, I became acquainted with a Scotch 
phrenologist, whose talent and acquirements I have no cause to 
underrate. He lodged at the same house with myself, and, on a 
dull, rainy day, amused and delighted a company of four of us 
with reminiscences and observations made during his erratic wan- 
derings. He was a well read, intelligent man, and possessed a 
wonderful knowledge of human character. His reading was 
by no means confined to his favorite science, nor did he follow 
implicitly the laws laid down by other professors of phrenology in 
his practice. He was an excellent physiognomist as well as phre- 
nologist, and judiciously combined the two when judging of the 
dispositions and characters of men. 

He had the honesty to acknowledge his many shortcomings, 
and, in relating his adventures, never purposely made himself the 
hero of his story. The day wore away imperceptibly as we listened 
to his fascinating conversation, and not one of us regretted having 
met with a companion so instructive and agreeable. He was what 
is called a clever man in England, and his conversational powers 
were wonderful. 

Before leaving the city, I visited several interesting places in 
the vicinity, including Roslyn Chapel and Craig Millar Castle. 
At the entrance to the latter, there was a huge watch- dog, whose 
countenance did not lead me to cultivate his intimate acquaint- 
ance, nor was it desirable to be familiar with him. I asked the 
boy, who conducted me around the ruin, whether the animal 
would bite. 

" I dinna ken, sir, but he tore all the clathes alF a lady yister- 
day, when she gaed near him.^' 

That was satisfactory to me, and corroborated my ideas of the 
true character of the canine guard of the famous prison-house of 
persecuted Queen Mary. He was a perfect Cerberus. 

As it was the harvest-season, I met numbers of Irishmen on 
the road who had crossed from their native land in search of em- 
ployment as reapers. They were tolerably well clothed, and each 
had with him a sickle for cutting grain. The cottages on my 
walk were much better lighted and ventilated than the huts in 
the Highlands, but still unfit for human habitations. The floors 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 189 

were of stonej and the interiors of each abominably filthy. The 
peasantry were surly and unsociable, and by no means so friendly 
as the mechanics of the cities. From my own observation, I am 
inclined to consider their reserved manners a necessary result of 
their condition and the circumstances by which they are sur- 
rounded. In other short journeys, I noticed the same. The 
women were always more communicative than the men, and there 
was a spirit of inquiry among them more worthy of commenda- 
tion. Although the men are unsociable, I believe that the rural 
population of Scotland is a better educated class and more intel- 
ligent than the English, and consequently superior. 



CHAPTER XVIIL 

A VISIT TO THE TOMB OF MICHAEL BRUCE, A YOUNG SCOTTISH 

POET. 

Having entertained for years a strong admiration for the cha- 
racter of Michael Bruce, a young Scottish poet of some distinction, 
I made a pilgrimage to his tomb, in fulfilment of a long-formed 
determination. The cold-hearted and cynical may sneer at my 
simplicity, and ask, with a laugh of derision, " Who was Michael 
Bruce?" But the jeers of the world never yet deterred me from 
carrying out my designs, nor prevented me from paying respect to 
merit, no matter whether it existed in a peasant or a peerj and 
I feel conscious that they cannot change my disposition now. 
Michael Bruce was a young man of poor and obscure parents, 
and, though born in a Highland cottage, his acknowledged talents 
and amability of character gained for him a name that many a one 
born in a higher sphere of life may well envy. He died at the early 
age of twenty-one years, and left behind him a number of poetical 
compositions which have placed him in the list of British bards, 
and given his name and character to the republic of letters. He 
was a contemporary and personal friend of Logan, the reputed 



]90 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

author of ^^ An Ode to the Cuckoo/^ a poem which has delighted 
thousands of readers wherever the language of England is spoken; 
and as that person published as his own many of the known pro- 
ductions of Bruce, there are good grounds for asserting that " The 
Cuckoo" was written by the youthful poet, and stolen bodily from 
him by Logan. The works of Bruce have attracted considerable 
attention among literary circles in Scotland of late years, and a 
copy of them now before me, edited by a distinguished literary 
gentleman, contains the poem on the merit of which rests the 
poetical reputation of Logan. Many of the acknowledged odes 
of Bruce are equal to the " Cuckoo," and that much cannot be 
said of the writings of the assumed author of the poem. It is a 
little remarkable that Logan should have written but one ode in 
the measure adopted in the beautiful composition attributed to 
him, while Michael Bruce left behind him several of the same 
prosodical construction. Logan published a collection of his 
works shortly after the death of his friend, and incorporated in 
the volume, as his own, a number of odes written by Bruce, among 
which, there is no doubt in the minds of competent judges at this 
day, was the " Ode to the Cuckoo." But whether Bruce was the 
author of that production or not, his fame does not rest upon the 
doubt connected with it, nor upon the poem if it be his. He was 
naturally of a weak constitution, and by close application to study 
and his duties as an instructor of youth, he fell into a rapid decline, 
and while in the last lingering stages of consumption, possessed 
the calmness of spirit and fortitude of soul to contemplate his ap- 
proaching dissolution in a poem, which, for gentleness of thought, 
beauty of language, and fine imagery, equals, in some respects, 
the sublime elegy of Gray. Witness the following lines, and 
imagine the youthful bard quietly contemplating the certain ap- 
proach of the angel of death, and then say whether my estimation 
of his character is too high, or my visit to his tomb a foolish 
journey: — 

" Now spring returns, but not to me returns 

The vernal joys my better years have known ; 
Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, 
And all the joys of life with health are flown. 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 191 

" Starting and shivering in the inconstant wind, 
Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, 
Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined. 
And count the silent moments as they pass." 

How beautiful the picture, and how appropriate the thought ! A 
vigorous tree shivered bj the blasts of spring, and beneath its 
shattered arms a dying youth silently noting the passing moments, 
with a full consciousness that his race is near at end, and his soul 
will soon wing its flight to realms beyond the grave. Death, at 
all times, is a solemn thing, and but few have the fortitude to 
witness its sure approach without a shudder, and none to welcome 
it with more calmness than did the gentle and talented poet of 
Loch Leven. 

I left Edinburgh in the morning and proceeded to Granton Pier, 
from which place I crossed the Frith of Forth, and took rail to 
Markinch, the nearest station to Portmoak, the burial-place of 
Bruce. The morning was cloudy and rain impended; but as the 
wind was high, I was not deterred from my journey, and set out on 
a walk to the place of my destination. My road lay toward Loch 
Leven, through a hilly country, and as I was alone I enjoyed 
without interruption the beauties of the landscape and my own 
reflections. I passed through the extended village of Leslie, and 
afi"orded the denizens of that place something to talk about, for 
they evidently considered me a wonder, and flocked to the doors 
with as much eager curiosity as if I had been Prince Albert. 
The way became more rugged and mountainous as I approached 
the highlands, and the heavy Scotch mists occasionally settled 
around me, but no rain fell, and after a walk of but little less 
than ten miles, I entered the secluded village of Portmoak and 
inquired for the sexton of the kirk. The inhabitants and myself 
were on a par so far as a knowledge of each other's language 6S» 
tended, as they understood about one-half of what I said, and I 
about a corresponding amount of what they uttered. I succeeded, 
however, without much difficulty, in finding the house of him I 
sought, and his wife, a plain and intelligent Scotch woman, ac- 
companied me to the church. The building is a square, prosy- 
looking edifice, as solemn and sour in appearance as were the 



192 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

Yinegar-visaged Puritan parsons of old; no ornaments, no spire, 
no beauty — it is the "most straitest of its sect/^ and as dreary 
as a tomb. The Scotch are wofully deficient in their modern 
churches, and fall immeasurably behind the English in ecclesias- 
tical structures. They want a love for the splendid in church 
architecture — its religion, if you please; and less of that solemn, 
square, four-walled style of building which prevails to so great an 
extent among them. Their villages are not handsome ; there is 
no beautifully designed place of worship, with its tall and grace- 
ful spire pointing to heaven, to attract the stranger's gaze, and 
add a charm to the hamlet. All is plain, level, and devoid of 
ornament. The monks of old knew the glories of a splendid Gothic 
edifice and its religious influences; but the Scotch, in their great 
reformation, swept both the beautiful in church architecture and 
the monks away together, and now bend the knee in temples as 
devoid of the beautiful, in most cases, as the structures they razed 
were remarkable for it. 

I followed my guide into the burial-ground, and as the old lady 
was well informed respecting the history of the poet, I spent a 
pleasant half hour in her company, near the urn placed over his 
remains. The memento was erected by some literary gentlemen 
as an evidence of their appreciation of the worth of the bard, and 
numbers of the countrymen of Bruce usually visit the place dur- 
ing the summer months, when making the circuit of Loch Leven. 
The churchyard is immediately below the craggy summit of the 
Lomond Hills, and in full view of the island castle in the lake, 
so long the prison of Mary Queen of Scots, and which furnished 
the subject of the longest poem of the lamented and pious bard. 
The scenery around is picturesque and rugged, though not so 
much resorted to as the more famed locality of Loch Lomond. 
On the urn is the subjoined inscription, which is by no means an 
exaggeration of either the character or talents of him who rests 
below : — 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 193 



THE BODY OF 

MICHAEL BRUCE, 

Who was born at Kinneswood in 1746, 

and died 

While a student in connection with the Secession Church 

in the 21st Year of his Age. 

Meek and gentle in spirit, sincere and unpretending in his Christian de- 
portment; refined in intellect, and elevated in character, he was greatly 
beloved by his friends, and won the esteem of all ; while his genius, 
whose fire neither poverty nor sickness could quench, produced those 
odes, unrivalled for simplicity and pathos, which have shed an undying 
lustre on his name. 

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, he sparkled and exhaled, 
and went to heaven. 

The name of Michael Bruce is unknown except to literary men, 
and but few strangers, if any, visit his grave. No foreigners go 
to Portmoak, and I was probably the first that ever visited the 
place with the main purpose of seeing the poet's tomb. The old 
lady looked at me with a puzzled gaze, and appeared at a loss to 
know who and what I was. She was aware that I was a stranger, 
and said to me, half doubtingly^ half inquiringly, " Ye'r no' En- 
glish, and I dinna ken what ye be." I purposely kept her in 
ignorance of the land of my birth until on the eve of my de- 
parture, when I told her I was an American. Her face brightened 
up, and she exclaimed, "Ay! I thought they were a' black; but 
how a body may be mistaken. But were you born there ?" she 
asked rather eagerly, supposing she had made an error by a too 
ready expression of opinion. I told her I was, and my ancestors 
before me. " Weel, weel," she continued, " I'm glad ye cam', 
for I'd ne'er believed but that they were a' black, had I na' seen 
ye;" and with a smile at her simple innocence I bade her good- 
by, and returned to Markinch, past the ruins of Arnot Castle, 
and through the beautiful valley of the Biver Lcven, and arrived 
at the Scottish capital, after a pleasant day's excursion to the 
birth and burial-place of Michael Bruce. 
17 



194 THE FOOTrATH AND UIGHWAY ; 



CHAPTER XIX. 

MELROSE — ABBOTSFORD — DRYBURGH, THE BURIAL-PLACE OF 
SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

Abbotsford, Melrose, and Dryburgh are sacred names to the 
admirers of the genius of Sir Walter Scott, and the places to 
which they belong are now Meccas of the mind. Thousands an- 
nually resort to their walls, drawn there by the wizard-like in- 
fluence of the great novelist and poet; and but few make the tour 
of Scotland without including in their journey a visit to one or 
the other of these celebrated places. I left Edinburgh in com- 
pany with a young Englishman, who was, like myself, a pilgrim 
to the shrine of genius, and after an agreeable travel of thirty 
miles or more, during which we passed the ruined castles of Both- 
well and Crichton, arrived at the quiet village of Melrose. A 
pleasant walk of three miles brought us to the turreted and pic- 
turesque mansion of Abbotsford, and on presenting ourselves at 
the lodge, we were admitted to the grounds and most attractive 
portions of the house. The building is very irregular, but singu- 
larly imposing, and well calculated to force remembrance upon the 
mind. In the court-yard, immediately in front of the entrance- 
door, in the centre of a circular grass-plot, stands the urn which 
flowed with wine at Holyrood at the time James the Sixth visited 
that royal abode after he had been crowned King of England; 
and in the wall of the building are shown the door of the Old 
Tolbooth of Edinburgh, and the pulpit of Ralph Erskine. Se- 
veral petrified antlers, of enormous size, adorn the porchway lead- 
ing into the entrance-hall, and at the side of the approach is a 
marble figure of the celebrated dog Maida, while the garden in- 
closure abounds in the fragments of broken columns and nameless 
sculpture. We were politely ushered into the vestibule of the 
mansion by an agreeable lady of some forty years, and conducted 



ORj AVANDERTNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 195 

through the various departments open to visitors. One of them 
is adorned with relics of antiquity and articles of historical note, 
forming in themselves a perfect museum. Its ceiling is of carved 
oak; its walls ornamented with curiosities, from the ke}'- of the 
Tolbooth to the richly blazoned coats-armorial of the most cele- 
brated of the border families, while the floor is inlaid with black and 
white marble from the Hebrides. Here are articles described by 
Sir "Walter in his matchless novels, and they well become the 
place. From this we entered the private study of the great man, 
and were allowed to touch his arm-chair, and look at the body- 
clothes last worn by him. They are kept in a case, and viewed 
through glass at the top, and are extremely plain and unpretend- 
ing. No efi"ort at display is exhibited in those garments, and they 
are just such as any one acquainted with the character of the man 
would expect Sir Walter Scott to wear. The only furniture in 
the study is a plain desk and the chair alluded to. It was in that 
room he wrote the most wonderful of his works, and the visitor 
treads its sacred floor with a noiseless step, fearful that he is an 
intruder, and half expecting to see Sir Walter enter from the ad- 
joining library, lam sure I unconsciously awaited his return; 
everything looked so natural, just as if he had left the room for a 
moment and gone to the adjacent apartment after a book for 
reference. There is a small gallery around three sides of the 
room, which leads to the sleeping-chamber once occupied by the 
novelist, so constructed that he could retire to rest from his mid- 
night labors without disturbing the sleep of others. We passed 
on to the library, a large and magnificent room, the roof of which 
is carved oak, after that in Roslyn Chapel. It contains nearly 
twenty thousand volumes, some of which are extremely rare and 
valuable. On a stand in one section is an urn of silver, contain- 
ing human ashes and bones, from the long wall at Athens, 
which, according to the inscription, was presented by Lord Byron 
to Sir Walter Scott in 1815. The breakfast parlor is a most 
winning little room ; but the dining-hall is the richest in art. 
There is a painting of the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, on a 
silver charger ; a portrait of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden ; 
one of that stern hero Cromwell ; and one of the eldest son of the 



196 THE FOOTrATH AND HIGHWAY; 

novelistj in the uniform of a Colonel of Hussars, and a fine- 
looking man he was. Other works of great merit adorn the walls 
of the apartment, and the armory is rich in articles of the notori- 
ous and the great. Here are Napoleon's pistols — there Hob Hoy's 
death-dealing gun — on this rack Toledo blades, as full of temper 
as the men who wore them ; while around are swords of kings — 
spears and battle-axes — arms of crusaders — and rapiers of truest 
steel. Here a pair of thumb-screws, those mad torturers of Spain, 
and there a chain that bound a prisoner, now rusty with the tears 
of him who felt its iron grasp. The curious may pass hours in 
examining these relics of the past, and find much to amuse and 
instruct. 

The windows facing the Tweed command a view of great 
splendor up and down that rapid, flashing crystal stream ; and 
the location, the comforts, and the internal arrangements of the 
mansion are unsurpassed, look at them as we may. It is the very 
earthly paradise of a poet and a great mind, that Abbotsford — 
and how pitiful that the originator and wonderful man, whose 
history is its history, should have lost it in his latter days, and 
died within its walls, on the sufferance of a creditor! The 
grounds around are laid out with exquisite taste, and adorned 
with rich exotic flowers and valuable plants. The walks are 
mostly secluded and romantic, and the surrounding scenery is 
beautifully picturesque. We passed several hours most agreeably 
within the limits of the princely estate, and returned to look upon 
the walls of Melrose Abbey. 

The ruin is much smaller than we expected ; but its beauty, 
even under a dull sky, is wonderful. The carvings are most ex- 
quisite ; and the long aisles and solitary cloisters, the rich groin- 
ing and crumbling walls, the secret avenues and solemn cells, all 
stand in quiet ruin like monuments of the mighty past, and 
chain-links betweeij these and other years. I never yet entered 
one of those glorious edifices but my mind at once became im- 
pressed with a sense of the mutability of earthly things, and the 
decline and change of earthly power. Here, thought I, of old, 
the solemn monks trod the cloisters, and engaged in the impres- 
sive services of their sect — and here dwelt bishops and abbots 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. . 197 

wliose influence was all powerful, and whose persons were sacred 
in the eyes of an ignorant world ; but now what a change ! The 
roofless abbey is the dwelling of the birds of the air, and 
its high altar-place is overgrown with grass, while the tourist 
treads with levity on the graves of the once potent and holy 
fathers of the church; and people of another creed exhibit the 
beauties of the edifice to the curious and admiring. The splendid 
ruin attests the poetical talents of its constructors, and may well 
be called the fragments of a glorious Gothic poem. Go look at 
that long range of richly carved windows, which once let sunlight 
into the lengthened nave, through glass of a thousand colorings — 
examine the variety of design, and the graceful curves of the fo- 
liage-formed capitals — the splendid and exquisitely chiselled carv- 
ings of the columns and mullions — the ornaments of the arches 
— the rich and graceful curves in the great east window — the 
sculptured flowers, grasped firm by human hands — the clustered 
pillars — the deserted choir — the whole of the triumphant pile — 
and then think of the genius of the past! Now rich velvety 
grass grows luxuriantly in the chancel, the nave, and the high 
altar-place, once sacred to rites religious; and the sunlight streams 
through broken oriel and ornate aisle, in full blaze upon the earth- 
floored monastic fane. The heart of a once heroic king, and the 
dust of bishops, warriors, and nobles, mingle with the decayed 
fragments of the falling temple, and nurture the green vegetation 
within its walls ; but what there is left of the gorgeous monu- 
ment of the past claims the admiration of the lover of the beau- 
tiful, and the liberal mind is consoled with the fact that the 
emergency which swept away the evil from the shrine permitted 
sufficient of the beautiful and glorious to remain to claim the ad- 
miration of men, regardless of creed or clime. I could live for- 
ever within the shadows of ruined abbeys, and drink in inspira- 
tion, while viewing their elegance and almost fadeless splendor. 

My companion was satisfied with Melrose, and did not feel in- 
clined to keep me company to Dryburgh Abbey, so I set out 
alone on a walk of nine miles, near the close of a cloudy day, to 
the grave of Sir Walter Scott. The road lay through a hilly 
country, and skirted the base of the Eildon Hills, celebrated in 

J 7* 



198 

the songs of Thomas the Rhymer, and the works of the novelist. 
They are three in number, and rise like so many pyramids almost 
abruptly from the lands on the south of the Tweed, near Mel- 
rose, and present a remarkable appearance. I leisurely pursued 
my course, and after following a direct road for more than three 
miles, turned into a narrow overshaded lane, which led me to the 
banks of the swift gurgling Tweed. A boatman ferried me 
across the stream, and I soon entered the extensive park attached 
to the fine old ruin. The sward was of the richest green, and 
the broad arms of several cedars of Lebanon, of great magnitude, 
overshadowed the ground, and lent a peculiar charm to the rich 
landscape. A yew-tree, supposed to be as old as the Abbey — 
700 years — stands like a jealous sentinel among his towering 
neighbors, and hides from sight the ruins of the ancient monas- 
tery as you enter the inclosure. I approached, and soon stood 
within the shattered walls of the building. The chapter-house 
and cloisters are the most entire, but they are now only a frag- 
ment of their former dimensions. In the centre of a secluded 
section, once a favorite resort of the religious brotherhood, 
stands a statue of Inigo Jones, the famous architect; and another 
of Sir Isaac Newton adorns the deserted chapter-house. The 
walls are overgrown with ivy, and the south window, a fine oriel, 
is almost curtained with the emerald leaves of the ruin-haunting 
vine. That portion of the abbey is the most imposing part of 
what remains^ and the richly mullioned circular window which 
adorns the centre of the massive wall is beauty's self. The 
building was in the usual form of a Latin cross, but what remains 
at this day is irregular and imperfect, conveying no exact idea of 
the extent or magnificence of the edifice when entire. St. Mary's 
Aisle, a detached portion of the ruin, is the tomb of the " great 
Wizard of tbe North," and at his side are those of his wife and 
eldest son. The graves are plain ; three heavy slabs of Peter- 
head granite cover the three narrow mansions of the dead, and 
over all rise the ivy-clothed and picturesque ruins. Near by are 
the remains of the high altar of the abbey, and the defaced and 
mouldcrino; tombs of several loDo;-foro'otten worthies. The in- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 199 

scriptlon to the memory of the novelist is brief in the ex- 
treme : — 

Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, 
Died Sept. 21, A. D. 1832. 

It is as plain as the stone on which it is engraved, but still 
sufficient for the place. His works are his epitaph, and there is 
not a line in them that his friends would wish erased. Over the 
remains of his wife is a longer record, and one in all things ap- 
propriate : — 

Dame Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, 

Wife of Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Baronet. Died at 

Abbotsford, May 15, A. D. 1826. 

The soldier is buried in front, and the three solitary graves 
have a solemn appearance, situated as they are within the crum- 
bling walls of that old fane. I was alone, and as the day was 
cloudy, a pleasant gloom settled over the landscape, and the sky 
appeared as if the sun would go down veiled. While I stood 
within the ruins and near the tombs, the struggling rays of the 
splendid orb broke in glory through the misty veil, and flung a 
shower of golden light upon the massive walls and through the 
deserted aisles. I never witnessed a more gorgeous scene. The 
ivy leaves, and mullioned windows, and rich old trees were bathed 
and tipped and tinged with golden flame ; and the grass in the 
high altar-place and fallen transept sparkled with liquid light. 
The arrowy Tweed's soft murmurs came up i^pon the evening 
breeze, and as the winds crept through the thick foliage of the 
trees and ivy veil that curtained the windows, the scene was all 
enchantment, and I stood euraptured with the view. It was a 
thing of beauty, and poor Keats tells us that " is a joy forever." 
I will remember the scene till the latest hour of my existence, 
for it was one never to be forgotten. There were the streaming 
rays of the sun darting through the foliaged oriel in the nave, 
and falling in a flood of light upon the velvet floor, while the dark 
shadows of the massive walls rested in solemn beauty on the 
tomb of Scott. It was a scene for a pilgrim, and a double glory 



200 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

for one wlio bad come so far. I waited an hour contemplating 
the ruin and the splendor of the setting sun, and wished for Ra- 
phael's matchless art, to grasp in tints and massive lights and 
shades the wondrous view. The bright rays slowly faded out, 
and one by one they gradually expired, and then over ruined 
aisle, and broken wall, and solemn tower, fell night's shadows 
gray and silence still as death ! I turned from the spot, and re- 
traced my steps to Melrose, meditating upon the glorious scene. 
But the day, so rich in the wonderful to me, was not destined to 
close with the splendid sight I had witnessed at Dryburgh. When 
I returned to the village, the night was well advanced, and the 
moon was gradually rising, though veiled in mist. When all 
was still, I went to the old abbey. As I passed through the vil- 
lage, my tread echoed along its deserted street, and through the tall 
and solitary market cross, and reminded me that I was alone. 
The ruin is surrounded by a wall, but I scaled it and stood with- 
in the inclosure among the graves of dead men, and along-side 
the monastic fane. The moon's rays were no longer obscured, 
but fell in a flood of silver light upon chancel, tower, and richly 
carved mullion, and streamed broad through the great east win- 
dow over the altar-place. While I stood in the Golgotha, the 
clock-bell, which swings in a tower over the south end of the 
transept, struck the passing hour. Its sudden and unexpected 
chime startled me on the instant; but it is proper that an iron 
sentinel should, from the solemn belfry of that old pile, proclaim 
the flight of time ! After the sounds had died away, and the 
echoes had sung a requiem through the aisles, my mind invested 
the place with life ; and imagination, aided by the hour and scene, 
summoned up a train of cowled monks and white-robed nuns, who 
seemed to pass in long array before me. Slowly their midnight 
hymn went up, and the lengthened throng, with smoking censers, 
swinging slow, filed along the velvet sward, and marched within 
the splendid fane. I watched the last one disappear, and a cloud, 
hiding the face of the moon for a time, dispelled the idle vision, 
and I stood in darkness within the shade of Melrose Abbey. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 201 



CHAPTER XX. 

ALNWICK CASTLE AND YORK MINSTER. 

Almost the entire country from Edinburgh to Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne abounds in ruined abbeys, castles, and monasteries. 
At Kelso is a fallen fane of the olden monks ; at Norham, a fine 
ruin of an ancient castle ', and at Berwick-on-Tweed, the remains 
of the walls which once inclosed the town. This last-mentioned 
place is situate on the north bank of the boundary river, within 
sight of the German Ocean, and is remarkable at present for 
nothing beyond its crooked, narrow, and filthy streets, and a 
splendid railway bridge which spans the Tweed. The country 
immediately adjacent to it is rather poor, but a few miles inland 
the soil is very fair and productive. When I passed through, the 
grain was ripe, and men and women were busily engaged in reap- 
ing. As many as one hundred persons were working together in a 
field, and they looked like a small army gathering the harvest of 
plenty. The greater part of them were Irish, who had crossed 
from their own island for the purpose of aiding the farmers in 
securing their crops, and earning something towards the support 
of their families. 

A railway connects Berwick with Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and 
lies within sight of the ocean nearly the entire distance, but 
affords no very fine views either by land or sea. I rested awhile 
at Alnwick, in Northumberland, celebrated for its fine castle, 
renowned as the '^ home of the Percy's high-born race.'' The 
town is neither large nor handsome, but it is interesting, and 
abounds in monuments of the ancient day. The entrance to the 
principal street is through a solid and massive gateway, erected 
by Hotspur, the best and bravest of the Percys; and in the lands 
connected with the estates of the Duke of Northumberland are 
the ruins of two abbeys, and one or two crosses to mark places 



202 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

on which noble vrarriors died when engaged in attacks upon the 
fortified castle^ the main attraction of the town. I presented 
myself at the gate, and was admitted within the walls of the 
enormous structure. It is buiifc entirely of freestone, in the 
Gothic style of architecture, and consists of three quadrangles 
inclosing a space of five acres. The walls are ornamented with 
battlements and turrets, and sixteen towers adorn the edifice, on 
each of which stands a figure in armor in an attitude of defence. 
Next to Windsor it is the most extensive edifice in England, and 
the internal embellishments and furniture are in character with 
its size and magnificence. The country around is extremely 
picturesque, and the greenest of swards gradually slopes from the 
outer walls of the structure on the north to the quiet and pellucid 
Alne. I was blest with a pretty girl for a guide, and she led 
me through the large halls and splendid rooms of the aristocratic 
mansion, and around the strong battlements and frowning towers 
of the building, and showed me the wonders of the place, from 
the armory which glitters with implements of strife hoarded up 
from the time of Hotspur, when the court-yard below 

" Echoed to the light step of the soldier's march, 
The music of the trump and drum," 

to the gloomy cells of the donjon-keep in which prisoners were in- 
carcerated of yore. My bright-eyed companion almost taught me 
love, and when she conducted me to Hotspur's favorite bower, 
and told me it was there that the fiery warrior wooed and won 
" his gentle Kate, a thousand years ago," I was more than half 
inclined to turn Hotspur myself, and woo the pretty maiden of 
the ducal palace. She was so fascinating, so modest, and so lady- 
like withal. 

The old church of St. Mary's, in the town, contains the tombs 
of the Percy family for generations past, and the walls are hung 
with the tattered banners of that house. The musty emblems of 
war are rapidly falling to pieces, and the gilding which embellishes 
them is fading away. Dust covers the banners of Hotspur, and 
the unlifted spears and armorial bearings which surround them 
are all that remain at present of their valiant defenders. What 



OR; AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 203 

a singular notion that is of displaying warlike standards in temples 
dedicated to the religion of the "Prince of Peace I" It looks 
much like an attempt to ridicule Christianity in its very altar- 
places. 

I did not remain long in Alnwick after viewing the castle, but 
continued on to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and passed a night in that 
place. There are some streets in the Coal Metropolis which are 
wide and elegant, and some buildings that are handsome, but the 
greater part of the city is filthy and forbidding. The streets in 
the unfiishionable sections are dirty, crooked, steep, and black as 
night. The people are either covered with coal dust or pale and 
sickly in appearance, and their condition generally does not im- 
press a person favorably. I visited one of the pits about eight 
miles from town, but cannot say that T derived either pleasure or 
profit from my trip. Children are employed in the sunless caves 
as well as men and women, and all are vulgar and ill-mannered, 
and appear to consider a visitor fair game to practice extortion 
upon. Little boys pulled at one side and asked for pence, while 
men bowed obsequiously for a shilling to purchase beer. Our 
company of three paid handsomely for the privilege of being 
covered with coal dust; and taking the expenses of guide, over- 
clothing, and fees to the workmen together, got off with about 
five dollars in all — a pretty fair sum for gratifying our laudable 
curiosity in a Newcastle coal mine. But the shilling is all potent 
in England. It opens churches and towers — swings back the 
ponderous gates of the castle — introduces the stranger into the 
sacred places of old, abbeys and convents — and bows the possessor 
obsequiously through the palaces of the nobles of the realm. It 
leads to decayed ruins, and gains information respecting wonder- 
ful places. Its glittering visage begets hospitality and civility, 
and opens to its lucky owner the richest galleries of ancient and 
modern art. It wins esteem and commands respect, attracts ob- 
servation and hides defects. It opens the doors of prohibited 
places and reveals the secret recesses in donjon-cells and keeps — 
it imparts knowledge and confers honor — and covers a multitude 
of sins. It is a subject of worship, and receives the adoration of 



204 

the bishop as well as the admiration of the tradesman. In a word, 
it is sovereijn, and doubly blest is he who 

"In silken or in leathern purse retains 
A splendid shilling." 



York is a wonderful city — one rich in churches, ruins, 
and Gothic fanes. Thick walls — strong and turreted — with 
towers and battlements — almost encircle it, and afford a splendid 
promenade. The Eiver Ouse flows through the town, but, as it 
differs from most of the English streams in being clear, it gives 
variety and charm to the quaint old city. The Minster is the 
wonder, but I deferred my visit to its soaring towers and impres- 
sive aisles until I had seen the less admired churches within the 
city walls. First along the crooked streets — so narrow, so ser- 
pentine, so mazy in their labyrinthine windings — but still so 
strange and winning, so quiet and so dreamy, that on you go 
regardless where you may be conducted, or indifferent as to what 
old shrine you stumble on, or to what ruined castle or abbey wall 
your steps may be directed. On one side a lane invites you to 
explore its wonders and admire its strange old structures. You 
enter, and follow a sort of mental i(/nis fatnus, which leads you 
forward step by step, until you are almost bewildered with the 
circling promenade you have had, and the happiness of soul you 
have felt in traversing a street in the fair and goodly city. I was 
filled with admiration for the place, and was half inclined to take 
for granted that there was nothing but pure religion in its 
churches until I entered one. It was a splendid shrine, with an 
air of solemnity around it that exacted reverence. The subdued 
sunbeams faintly struggled through its glass of brilliant coloring, 
and diffused through the interior the "dim religious light" of 
which Milton so sweetly speaks. 

A jockey ivsh parson was reading the impressive burial-service 
over the body of an infant as I entered; he turned his sickly, 
calf-like eyes upon me as I stepped into the aisle, and drawled 
out the beautifid language of the ceremony in a spiritless, soulless 
strain that made me think lie would rather be present at the horse- 



) OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 205 

race near at hand than in the pulpit where he stood. He was the 
veriest burlesque of a clergyman I ever saw, and disgusted me 
with his unbecoming conduct. I could not tolerate him, and 
withdrew to view other buildings, although the one in which he 
officiated was beautiful, and would have detained me longer had 
he acted more in character with his calling. He certainly did 
not please me. 

We require variety to form contrast ; without it, all would be 
dull and unprofitable ; with it the really sublime becomes inspiring, 
and we drink in the inspiration of the glorious with eagerness and 
pleasure. I wended my way to the Minster, the most wonderful 
evidence of the monkish supremacy, and the most commanding 
edifice in England. Externally it is marked with decay, and time 
has defaced the walls and discolored the stone — but there is the 
structure with its splendid windows, its lofty towers, and its 
magnificent front. It is a proud monument of the past, and its 
harmonious proportions, rich details, and great magnitude com- 
mand silence and admiration, and cause the beholder to stand un- 
covered unconsciously before it. Reverent regard for the men 
who designed the splendid edifice is entertained by every specta- 
tor, and it is wonderful to see the ignorant rustic in an attitude of 
awe and admiration gazing up to its beauties. But enough of the 
exterior. Let us go within its walls. How high, solemn, and 
impressive is the glorious transept. Look away into the distant 
perspective, on to that gorgeous window — it glows with all the 
colors known to man — that is ideal sublimity realized! Now 
turn your gaze up, along those perfect Gothic columns, and let the 
eye follow them to the very roof of heaven, as it were, where the 
graceful arches meet in beauty. Two hundred feet above your 
head soars the tower roof. The eye never tires at that pageant, 
nor does the scene pall upon the mind. It elevates the soul, and 
lifts it high above the cares, and anxieties, and dross of this poor 
world. There's religion in this fane, and those noble aisles and 
towering walls proclaim it. That nave is a wonder of itself, and 
the great window in the centre is like the concave sky in the 
coloring of a rich sunset, diffused with gold and emerald, topaz 
and amethyst, ruby and sapphire dyes. But look at this altar 
18 



206 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

screen, a holy temple like to that of proud Jerusalem, and, as I 
live, all sculptured stone. Why, a whole century must have been 
consumed in creating this. Those solemn monarchs appear like 
petrified men, not sculptured figures! But look above them. 
There's a dense throng of angels, each with timbrel or celestial 
reed and face expressive of most heavenly peace, chanting the 
praise of Him who reigns forever ! How numerous they are ! 
How perfect in their attitudes and forms, and how appropriate to 
the place in which they stand ! It's right to call them the Angelic 
Choir ! But come ; we'll engage that verger to guide us through 
the fane — down into the crypt — to the chapter-house — to the 
chancels, and, if you will, around among the musty tombs of long- 
forgotten and nameless prelates of the church, who flourished 
here when this proud shrine was Rome's. 

The chapel rivets attention, and commands silence. Some years 
ago, a lunatic set fire to this portion of the building, and destroyed 
the greater part of the interior. The great east window was saved 
from the flames, and thanks for its preservation. It is regarded 
as one of the most perfect and imposing specimens of cathedral 
decorations we have left us, and not improperly. It is seventy-five 
feet high, and about thirty-five in width at the base, and the ma- 
sonry and the design of the details are in character with the 
magnitude and gorgeousness of the splendid ornament. There is 
a gallery across it, midway up, which is four feet wide; but it looks 
so small, when viewed from the floor of the chapel, that no one 
would know that it was a gallery if he were not told. It has the 
appearance of a sash or mullion. The organ is the largest in the 
world, and contains eight thousand tubes and eighty stops. 
Around the choir, to the right and left, are the stalls of the pre- 
bendaries; and in front of the great east window, in the same 
section of the edifice, is the archbishop's throne, in ornament as 
costly and elegant as that of a sovereign. To the east of the 
choir is the ''Lady Chapel;" but it is remarkable only for its 
tombs. " That is a monument to Sir George Saville," said the 
verger, " a native of York, who used his utmost endeavors to put 
an end to the American war. He holds a scroll in his hand, on 
which is engraved the petition he presented to the throne against 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 207 

tliat unnatural and unjust crusade. I always show that to your 
countrymen, and I know you are an American," he concluded, 
with an inquiring air. I assented, and he became more obliging, 
and conducted us to the musty crypt, and several Roman sar- 
cophagi, recently found in the vicinity of York; for the old city 
was for four hundred years a Roman military station, and here one 
of the emperors, Constantino the Great, was born. 

During the great civil wars, the Parliamentary troops occupied 
the building as a barracks, and the verger took especial pains to 
point out the injuries inflicted by the soldiers on the edifice at that 
time. " These niches," said he, ^^ were adorned with statues of 
saints; but as the Puritans did not admire such ornaments, they 
destroyed them. These large coffers were made for carrying off 
the valuables of the church, when the troops withdrew, and Crom- 
well was not satisfied with the gold and silver, but took away 
the lead and brass which adorned the Minster, for the purpose of 
converting them into ammunition. He injured nearly every ca- 
thedral and abbey in England." 

I told the guide that I greatly esteemed Oliver, and considered 
him by far the greatest man, both as a statesman and a general, 
that Great Britain ever produced. He appeared to regard me as 
heretical, and was not half so obliging afterwards. 

The chapter-house is a most magnificent part of the edifice, and 
it has recently been restored and beautified. It is octagonal, and 
each side, except the entrance, contains a window of richly stained 
glass, while the walls are ornamented with scroll-work, very ela- 
borately executed. The whole circumference below the windows, 
excepting the segment containing the door, is occupied hy forf^'- 
fouv canopied stalls for the canons, who compose the chapter of 
the cathedral, each of which is decorated profusely with sculp- 
ture. The roof is simple, but elegant; and the floor is gorgeously 
inlaid with encaustic tiles, a most beautiful method of ornament- 
ing an edifice. The softened light difi"used through the place 
gives it a sacred air, and impresses the visitor with a sense of re- 
verence. 

In the transepts, both north and south, of the main building, 
are tombs, on which rest full length marble effigies of the dead. 



208 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j 

Some are black with age, and conjecture only attempts to say wlio 
the nameless occupants are. It matters but little who rests under 
the monuments, the gazer is indifferent as to that, and is more 
delighted in looking at the marble figures which adorn them than 
curious to learn to whom they were erected. While standing in 
the nave, I was unexpectedly joined by the young German whose 
acquaintance I was so fortunate as to make in Scotland, and re- 
mained some time with him admiring the glorious structure. 
While we were together, silent spectators of the splendid nave 
and aisles, the Minster chime rang wildly out to the bright sky, 
and filled the immense vault with melodious sound. The great 
heavy bell of the cathedral joined in the iron clangor, and the 
air vibrated and rolled as waves to its deafening tones. It was 
grand — that chime in York Minster. 

We visited the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, one of the greatest 
attractions in York, after we had passed around the splendid 
]\Iinster. The north wall of the nave of the church is all that 
remains of the once extensive structure, for it was, when entire, 
almost as large as the cathedral. Eight windows adorn it, but 
the mullions are gone, and the wall is nearly covered with ivy. 
In the same inclosure are the ruins of a Koman fortification, and 
the York Museum ; but as the abbey walls are the sole attraction 
for the stranger, the cupidity of the owners extracts a shilling 
from the pocket of each visitor for the privilege of looking at the 
fragments of the ruined Papal shrine. The English talk to us of 
a desire for gain, and pretend to think that no people in the world 
covet money more than the Americans, when they themselves take 
from travellers at every turn, and demand pay for exhibiting the 
most trifling articles, and the most sacred places. In the conser- 
vatory connected with the Museum, there was a Victoria Regia, 
and the owners modestly asked an additional sixpence from each 
person for the privilege of looking at that single plant. 

My German friend had a young architect with him who was 
an enthusiastic admirer of the ecclesiastical edifices of York. 
His sketch-book was embellished with several exquisite drawings 
of the Minster, and churches of the place, besides a number made 
in Wales and Scotland. We took an evening walk along the 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 209 

walls of the city, from which we enjoyed some fine views of the 
old Roman stronghold. Our artist added a fine picture of the 
town to his collection of sketches, while we took pleasure in the 
scenery. Large gates span the entrance to the principal streets, 
and the towers and battlements along the inclosure give the town 
the appearance of being inclosed by extensive fortifications. 
Church spires rise in every quarter, and the ruined tower of the 
castle frowns down upon the quaint city, while over all rises, 
like a stately and majestic giant, the immense form of the 
glorious and indescribable Minster. 

During my stay, the York races came off, and thousands of 
sportsmen were present. Betting, boasting, gambling, and drink- 
ing were the order of the day, and night closed over a scene of 
prolonged debauchery. The streets were filled with pedestrians, 
and at the corners men were to be seen singing in stupid strains 
and verse the achievements of the winnino; horse. Ballad-sinjxers, 
candy-women, and itinerant dealers generally mingled in tha 
throng, and the moral influences of a horse-race were exhibited 
in the streets of York. A swaggering rider bet on his favorite 
filly, and staked his shillings with as much consequence as his 
master did his pounds; and the successful gamblers fleeced the 
stupid clowns. London sent her delegates of ''the Fancy ;'^ 
and the tradesmen and innkeepers of the town made a good 
harvest of the " meeting/' as they term the racing. These black- 
guard gatherings are demoralizing and pestilential in their efl"ects; 
but England loves to encourage both horse-racing and ring-fights, 
and, when the wealthy in most instances support and foster these 
branches of popular education, it is not surprising that the poor 
and ignorant take pride in witnessing the sport, and keeping 
holiday, when occasion permits. 

Having satisfied my curiosity at the antique city of York, 
I availed myself of a cheap excursion train to the metropolis, 
and set out in company with my German friends, through a 
country rich in yellow grain ready for the sickle, and over a por- 
tion of the dreary wolds of Yorkshire. We made a short stop 
at Doncaster, and then dashed on to Lincoln. Miles bef )re we 

18* 



210 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

reached that city, we obtained a sight of its lofty and imposing 
cathedral and stately castle. Both buildings stand on an eminence, 
and command a prospect of great extent. The beautiful Gothic 
fane is not surrounded by houses, and consequently affords a 
splendid view. A stay of twenty minutes enabled us to run up 
the hill on which it stands, and walk around the structure. 
Niches, now saintless, and rich carvings embellish its external 
walls, and around it spreads a velvety sward, as soft to the tread 
as a rich carpet. Portions of the old walls which once inclosed 
the city still remain, and one or two gateways span as many 
streets. The city is not large, nor is it very handsome, but it 
has many attractions for the stranger, and is well worth a visit. 
A stay of a few minutes allowed no time for an examination into 
the habits and condition of the inhabitants, and not sufficient for 
a look at its principal structures. 

From Lincoln to Peterborough the road lay through the re- 
claimed fens, one of the most fertile and productive grain countries 
in the world, and as the crops were ripe for harvest, we saw 
numbers of people in the fields reaping. Women and fair young 
girls were engaged in this rural labor, and many a bright eye 
glanced at our lengthened train as it pursued its iron way. 

The country is almost a dead level, and at no remote bygone 
period was a vast and useless swamp. Now, thanks to science in 
mechanics and agriculture, the whole surface is drained tho- 
roughly, and fields of waving grain, and numerous farm-houses, 
and villages and cities abound throughout the district. The 
system of drainage is most excellent, and the same that is used 
generally in England and Scotland. Large ditches are cut through 
certain parts of the land, and some of them are so extensive as 
to greatly resemble canals. Into these flows the drainage of the 
land, which is conducted through earthen pipes, laid under 
ground, in almost every field. The only comparison I can make, 
by which a correct idea of the plan can be imparted to others 
who have not seen it, is to say that the system is the same for 
drainage here as that used for supplying water to the city of 
Philadelphia. No conduits are seen — all are under ground, and 
the water is conducted from the surface into small reservoirs, 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 211 

wbich lead to the pipes, and through these pipes into the large 
canals, and then into the natural streams. Some of the rivers are 
embanked to prevent overflows, and the country reminds one of 
Holland, where they " scoop out the sea, and usurp the shore." 

We made a short stop at Boston, in Lincolnshire, a considerable 
town near the sea-coast, and had time to see its famous church, 
the spire on which is three hundred feet high, and can be seen at 
a distance of forty miles in clear weather. Nearly all the cities, 
in this section of England, boast a cathedral or other noble eccle- 
siastical edifice, and every village has its Gothic church and soar- 
ing tower and spire. 

By the time we arrived at Boston, our company had grown so- 
ciable and mutually entertaining. The young ladies were agree- 
able and — pretty. The Germans were polite and gentlemanly, 
and chatted English intelligibly enough. The Englishmen relaxed 
their usual stiffness, and joined freely in the conversation. I, as 
the representative of young America, came in for an occasional 
rub about slavery and our territorial acquisitions, and the show 
we made at the Exhibition; I laughed at their jokes, and, as the 
yacht ^^ America" had just beaten the whole fancy fleet of such 
English craft at Cowes with ease, I had some show for fight, and 
did not hesitate about exulting at the achievement of my country- 
men. I intimated to them that Jonathan would play them a 
Yankee trick yet, and take the conceit out of the nation in more 
things than building ships, and they had the candor to acknow- 
ledge that it was very likely he would. The time passed away 
pleasantly as we fled through the counties of Lincoln and North- 
ampton, and, in fact, during the entire journey. At Peterborough 
we made another half hour's stay, and looked at its hale ca- 
thedral, the burial-place of Catharine of Arragon, and, for a time, 
of Mary, Queen of Scots, who, it appears, was not even allowed 
repose in death, and she was afterwards removed from Peterbo- 
rough to Westminster Abbey. As we approached the modern 
Babylon, the country became more hilly, and parks more numerous. 

Our route lay through a number of old and remarkable towns, 
among which were Huntingdon, the birthplace of Cromwell, and 
Bedford, the place in which Bunyan wrote his " Pilgrim's Progress," 



212 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

and near wliicli city he was born. Hertford, and Barnet, a town 
celebrated for a fight which took place near it during the wars of 
the Roses, in which the great Earl of Warwick fell, were success- 
ively passed; and then we pressed on to the great city, which we 
entered after night in the bustle and confusion incident to the 
arrival of an immense train within its bounds. I parted for the 
time with my German friends and travelling companions, and 
wended my way along the crowded thoroughfares of the metro- 
polis to my former lodgings. Thousands of people thronged the 
streets, and the black smoke obscured the stars and moon — the 
atmosphere was not that of the country, nor the inhabitants like 
those of the smaller cities. As I passed the numerous gin-palaces 
on my route, the fumes of liquor impregnated the air, and the 
dazzling light from the windows of these sinks of iniquity flared 
broad in the streets, and contrasted strongly with the dark slums 
and back lanes which lay in my walk. Degraded men and women 
crowded the bar-rooms of the poison palaces, and the atmosphere 
was thick with smoke and the fumes of gin. I pressed on, and 
gained my destination, where I met a hearty and sincere wel- 
come home; still, I could not divest my mind of thoughts con- 
cerning the scenes I had just witnessed — the change from the 
rural to the metropolitan life was so great. Surely enough, " God 
made the country, man made the town." 



CHAPTER XXI. 

LONDON — NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE — HAMPTON COURT 

MADAME TAUSSAUD's — VERNON GALLERY, ETC. 

The metropolis of England is unlike any other city in the 
world; it has no counterpart, no imitation. Its great magni- 
tude, its busy throngs, its sombre aspect, its squalid misery, and 
matchless splendor, alike defy description and claim observation. 
A writer may throw a few sketches of it together, and call them 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 213 

a picture of London ; but he who examines the tableau will de- 
tect its many defects, and expose its inaccuracies. No one can 
convey to the mind of another, by means of words, a correct idea 
of its wonders and peculiarities; nor is it possible for a reader to 
comprehend its greatness and its poverty, its glory and its shame. 
I was as much a stranger in it on my second visit as at my first ; 
and threaded its thoroughfares, eager to behold its curiosities, and 
admire its many attractions. There was an endless throng of con- 
veyances and pedestrians in the streets, the noise from which was 
ceaseless and stunning. Carriages dashed past, bearing the wealthy 
on to the abodes of luxury, while shoeless men and women roamed 
the sideways, begging the passers-by to purchase of their stock of 
wares — a cane, a knife, a dancing-spider, or some other useless 
toy. 

The Great Exhibition was still in existence, and crowds from 
the provinces, as well as thousands of foreigners, had taken up 
their temporary abode in the royal city. New attractions had been 
added to the many already designed for the edification and delight 
of the people, and the Duke of Northumberland, with a praise- 
worthy liberality, worthy honorable mention, had ordered his town- 
residences — Syon and Northumberland Houses — to be opened to 
the public. Both are fine mansions, and princely in their internal 
arrangements. Northumberland House is in the city, at Charing 
Cross; and is mainly remarkable for a superb marble stairway, 
which leads from the ground to the first floor. The rooms are 
hung around with pictures by the old masters — the most valuable 
being the original of the "Cornaro Family,'' by Titian. The ball- 
room, a very large and lofty apartment, is adorned with copies of 
two of Raphael's great works — "The Marriage Feast of Cupid and 
Psyche," and the "School of Athens;" and a copy, by Mengs, of 
Guido's ^'Aurora." The paintings are of great magnitude, and 
occupy three sides of the room, which is decidedly the finest in 
the palace. The furniture, although costly, did not appear to 
me to be in character with the splendor of the decorations and 
extent of the place, and some faded tapestry in a particular de- 
partment would better suit a rag-shop than the walls it now 
defaces. 



214 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

Syon House is a few miles from town on the ThameSj near 
Brentford. It contains some fine pictures by Vandyke, and 
several of Sir Peter Lely's and Kneller's best productions. The 
" long room" is embellished with portraits of the Percys, from 
the days of William the Conqueror down to our own time, in- 
cluding one of the valiant Hotspur. The drawing-room is the 
finest apartment, being hung with rich crimson damask, and orna- 
mented at the ceiling with paintings from ancient mythology. 
In the entrance-hall is a number of verd-antique marble columns, 
said to have been recovered from the Tiber at Rome; and 
several fine bronze figures of great excellence. The grounds are 
extensive and extremely sylvan. They abound in secluded walks 
and shady groves, tall cedars of Lebanon and brave old elms. 
The Thames flows not far from the house, and although the 
building is very plain, the scenery around gives the visitor a 
strong partiality for the quiet and princely residence. Thousands 
of persons availed themselves of the privilege of visiting the two 
mansions, and the strictest decorum and propriety characterized 
the conduct of all. Many were the wives and daughters of 
London tradesmen and mechanics, and in no instance did I ob- 
serve the slightest rudeness on the part of a single individual — a 
proof to me that it does not require a person to be of noble blood, 
even in England, to be of good manners and genteel behavior. 

Hampton Court, the former residence of the deposed and dis- 
graced Wolsey, is now the resort of the public, and the freed, 
toil-worn citizens of London fly to it on Sundays to drink in the 
rich air of its magnificent parks, and admire the wealth of its 
splendid galleries. They go there by thousands, and well may 
they be proud of the privilege their sovereign grants them, of 
viewing the monarchic palace, and living in its healthful grounds. 
I have seen thirty thousand persons there at one time, nearly all 
of whom were London mechanics and their families, and not once 
did I notice a single improper act. Every individual conducted 
himself as if upon his behavior depended the reputation of his 
class, and he was determined it should not sufier in his keeping. 
Cheerfulness, sociability, and a spirit of kindness characterized 
all, from the little child to the grayheaded man ; and not a pro- 



215 

fane or vulgar expression fell from the lips of an individual. Of 
the vast throng there, there was not one who exhibited the least 
sign of intoxication, but all were sober, respectful, and devoted to 
rational enjoyment. Each had a proper respect for the rights of 
others, and each revelled intellectually in the feast to which he 
was admitted. The intelligent mechanics and tradesmen of 
London are a refined people, and they appreciate the favor 
they have of visiting Hampton Court on the Sabbath, and never 
abuse it. Their enjoyment of the day at the old palace, and in 
its glorious grounds, is not a desecration, but both a harmless 
and beneficial use of the time. They feel when there that life 
has a sweet draught mixed with its bitterness, and if many of 
them do not hold to a religious observance of the Sabbath, they 
welcome it as a glorious boon from Heaven, a day of rest from 
toil and a release from confinement. 

The palace is built in the quadrangular form, and is of vast 
extent. The entrance to the first court-yard is adorned with busts 
of Tiberius, Vitellius, Trajan, and Hadrian, all of which were sent 
to Wolsey from Rome by Pope Leo the Tenth. A large hall 
to the left of this entrance contains some fine tapestry embellished 
with splendid designs, and a glorious window with the red hat of 
a cardinal conspicuously marked on its glass of gay colors; while 
around are the coats of arms of deceased monarchs and queens, 
and halberts, pikes, and banners. The apartment is said to have 
been used as a theatre in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, and 
that the play of Henry the Eighth, or the Fall of Wolsey, was 
represented in it first on the very spot which had witnessed the 
prelate's greatest power and splendor. 

The presence chamber contains seven cartoons of great merit, 
by Carlo Cignani, and the galleries and various apartments are 
literally lined with masterpieces of art. There are " Countesses 
mature'^ in robes and pearls, by Kneller, and beauty speaks from 
out the canvas. Sweet girls and capricious belles, by Sir Peter 
Lely. Here shines a Titian in all its glories; there young Palma 
stains the canvas with the blood of martyrs ; before you a Van- 
dyke wooes the sight, and at your right a gloomy Tintoretto. 
Here a Saint, by Parraigiano, pleads and begs you to release him 



216 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

from the pain he suffers, while glorious Rubens calms you into 
peace ! There's old Jordaens, there a Snyders, there a golden 
and celestial Claude, and here a rich and sweet Murillo. There's 
a Giorgone black as night, and here a very gem of Guido ; while 
around you shines a world of triumphs by a hundred artists. 
Here the genius of Caravaggio left its impress, and there sublime 
Angelo holds the vision captive. Spagnoletto stained this form 
with sainted gore, and gloomy Spada colored that St. John. 
Paul Veronese, Leonardo da Vinci, and matchless Ricci, crowned 
the place with all the holy ! Here's a rich Ferrato; and a warrior 
by Guercino scowls from yonder frame, as if he meant to step 
down and slay the gaping gazers. There's a Rembrandt dark as 
Hades, yet as light as day. Here a Venus by Albano and at its 
side a faultless masterpiece of old Teniers. And even West, he 
of the bloodless palette from beyond the far Atlantic, here shines 
in glory and vies with all the masters of the olden time in his 
lio-hts and shadows, splendid forms, and rich celestial coloring. I'll 
give him praise for once, dash away my prejudice, and own he 
WAS AN ARTIST. But, over all the throng, triumphant and sub- 
lime, unapproached and unapproachable, stands the youthful 
artist, glorious and immortal Raphael. The others' pictures are 
but shadows when compared with his cartoons — the very per- 
fection of design. I shall never think of Hampton Court without 
summoning up a lengthened and imposing throng of painters, who, 
with noble air, shall pass in file before me; and at the head and 
front of all will be the form of Raphael with that calm face of his, 
BO full of art and genius ! 

The Vernon Gallery, at Marlboro' House, is composed almost 
exclusively of the productions of modern English artists. Some 
of the works are remarkable, but none exhibit the soul that glows 
in the picture of the artists of the Flemish and Italian schools. 
The pictures have the appearance of having been done to order, 
and it is an established fact that no painter ever yet produced a 
masterpiece when he painted solely for lucre. The idea of work- 
ing in art for money drives the inspiration away, and the result is 
a senseless unfeeling effort of the pencil ; rich it may be in color- 
ing, and possessing decided mechanical merit^ but wanting most cer- 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 217 

tainly the poetry and soul-elevating characteristics of the works of 
those whose labor in art was a religion, those who painted from a be- 
lief in what they did and a faith in their chosen profession. The 
pictures of Gainsborough are the best in the collection, and evidence 
the superiority and sincerity of the artist. The Hogarths, in the 
same building, stand pre-eminent for their truthfulness to nature 
and character. 

One of the great resorts of sight-seers in London is Madame 
Tussaud's exhibition of wax figures, and scarcely a night passes 
that the place is not densely thronged with gaping and admiring 
humanity. The untravelled countryman and his rustic daughters 
there see the sovereign in regal robes, and her descendants repre- 
sented in yellow wax, and look with admiring wonder on the 
stupid show. Wretched figures of more wretched kings and queens 
are judiciously disposed for exhibition, and the tin spangles on 
tlieir faded robes glitter in the gas-light, and astonish the delighted 
and loyal crowd. A whole host of the line of Brunswick stand 
around like wooden men and women, with eyes agape, staring 
upon the throng who stare again at them. Miserable caricatures 
of Napoleon, Washington, Cromwell, Shakspeare, and Byron 
occupy niches, and the soul sickens at the contemplation of the 
figures, they so outrage humanity. Each one looks as if ophthal- 
mia were a distemper of the atmosphere, and all sufi'er from the 
sad disease. Shakspeare is represented as a modern dandy^ *' who 
cultivates his hair;" and Byron as a Greek, with a belt around 
the waist containing a whole arsenal of arms. One naturally 
enough concludes, after viewing that caricature, that his lordship 
is admirably prepared for a Cuban expedition, and 

*' Was the mildest mannered man 
That ever scuttled ship, or cut a throat," 

and took delight in nothing short of murder. Other figures are 
arranged throughout the apartments, and some of them even move. 
A Chinese lady nods her head most vehemently at times, and after 
the lacqueys wind up Cobbett, that worthy old gentleman twists 
his neck determinedly until the weights run down, when he very 
wisely keeps hiaiself quiet until put in motion again by the ma- 
19 



218 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

cliinerj. There are some miserable pictures around the walls, 
and several plaster casts of female forms, none of wliieli are re- 
markable for beauty. 

But this is not all. The '' room of horrors" invites attention 
next, as if there were not enough of horrors in the first apartments 
to horrify any decent, well-disposed individual. The difference 
between the two sections is, I suppose, that the first contains the 
murdered, the last the murderers, as every one who sees the figures 
in both must acknowledge. 

The chamber of horrors is rich in the wonderful of the cri- 
minal world; and there the enlightened and intelligent can see 
Mrs. Manning, and others equally distinguished, who have added 
to the Newgate literature of England. Every exertion has been 
made to cause the poor wretches to look as rascally as possible ; 
and the artist is not even content with that, but must call them, 
in the catalogue, all the '' diabolical" names to which he can con- 
tort his classical tongue. Burke, the Edinburgh miscreant, is 
represented as a fiend incarnate, and his face is well calculated to 
frighten children to death. Napoleon's carriage is in the apart- 
ment; but I could not ascertain what crime that unfortunate 
yehicle had been guilty of to entitle it to a place in that horrible 
chamber of horrors. It surely did not commit murder; and yet, 
why is it there? So much for Madame Tussaud's exhibition of 
wax figures, the resort of the curious, and a sham to please or 
alarm children. It is, without misrepresentation, the most abo- 
minable abomination in the great city, and the very audience-hall 
of humbugs. Barnum ought to have it. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

JEWISH QUARTER — PUBLIC STATUES — PECULIARITIES. 

There is a street in the Whitechapel section of London called 
Petticoat Lane, a long, narrow avenue, almost entirely occupied 
by a set of low, thieving Jews. It is a carriage-way; but in con- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 219 

sequence of being filled with goods, but few vehicles enter it. 
With Iloundsditch, another similarly inhabited, though better con- 
ditioned thoroughfare in the neighborhood, it comprises the Jew- 
ish quarter of the metropolis. Both sides of the narrow, filthy 
alley are lined with shops, filled with trumpery of every kind. 
Old clothes (and no one will doubt their being old), broken china, 
shabby furniture, rusty iron, dirty children, slatternly women, and 
vagabond-looking men crowd the place. At one side, the curious 
wight who enters the avenue is almost forced into a shop to buy 
a hat better than new; while, at the other, an opposition dealer 
insists that you purchase of him, and declares his neighbor will 
cheat you. The centre of the lane is occupied with stands, on 
W'hich is exposed for sale a conglomeration of such trumpery as 
only Jews would collect or offer to sell. The whole of the in- 
habitants look like professional thieves, from the children up, and 
it is the presence only of the police that prevents a man being 
robbed in broad daylight. No one can be mistaken in the people. 
All possess the indisputable nose that characterizes the tribe of 
Judah; and the sharp, penetrating black eye, and sinister, dis- 
honest, avaricious expression of countenance exhibited by all, 
induce the visitor to make a hasty retreat from Petticoat Lane. 
I thought the very atmosphere of the place thick with villany; 
and when I reached my lodgings took my coat off and aired it, so as 
to get rid of the infection. Talk about the Five Points! Pshaw! 
In gaming phrase, Petticoat Lane will beat it, and give it a 
thousand start. 

The public statues of persons of distinction in London are nu- 
merous- Wellington has at least two, both of which are eques- 
trian. The best is in front of the Ptoyal Exchange and the Bank. 
The other is over the triumphal arch at Hyde Park corner, and 
opposite Apsley House. There is a very fine bronze figure of 
George the Third, mounted, in Cockspur Street; and one of 
Charles the First, at Charing Cross, immediately before the Nel- 
son Pillar, on the top of which stands a colossal figure of the great 
naval captain. George the Fourth had a statue of himself placed 
on one of the pedestals in Trafalgar Square, at his own expense, 
and it remains to this day as a monument of his vanity. 
There is a very fine pedestrian figure of the sailor king, William 



220 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

the Fourth, at the foot of King William Street, near London 
Bridge, on what is said to be the site of Dame Qaiglej's Boar's 
Head Tavern. It is a masterpiece, and one of the best public 
statues in London. There are representations in bronze, in the 
public squares, of Fox, Pitt, and Canning; and a really graceful 
and fine figure of James the Second in the court-yard of White 
Hall. A tall column, of Scotch granite, rises near Carlton Ter- 
race to an altitude of one hundred and some forty feet, attracting 
considerable attention. It is surmounted with a fine bronze statue 
of a portly, baldheaded man, and can be seen to great advantage 
from St. James's Park. A few days after my entrance into Lon- 
don, I was walking near the shaft, and not knowing to whom it 
was erected, I asked a man of genteel appearance what it was. 

" We call that," said he, looking up to it with a sarcastic smile, 
" the I. 0. U. column. It was built by subscription to the memory 
of the Duke of York, a man who died indebted to almost every 
tradesman in London who would trust him; and it would have 
been more to the honor of those who built it if they had paid 
some of his starving creditors with the money, instead of erecting 
that to insult those he cheated." 

I did not expect such a reply; and as my informant was of the 
class called tradesmen, I concluded that His lioyal Highness, the 
valiant Duke of York, had left him some mementos of his great- 
ness in the shape of unpaid bills. 

The circulating medium of England is gold, silver, and copper, 
a currency far superior to flimsy paper, and one with which there 
is not the slightest difficulty. The American is impressed with 
its utility and excellence at once and lastingly. There is no 
trouble about change, and as the currency is the same throughout 
the three kingdoms, a man is never at a loss in a strange place to 
know whether his money is current or not. The lowest note is 
£5, or about $25; and go where you will, that always commands 
its full value in gold or silver. I often thought, when ram- 
bling about the kingdom, how much superior is the currency of 
monarchical England, compared with the trashy paper of our 
Republic. I had not occasion to pay an exorbitant discount on 
flimsy, soiled, and mutilated bills in every town I entered, as 



OR; AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 221 

one must do in the United States, nor did I run the risk of hav- 
ing a counterfeit note palmed on me when I required change. 
The sovereigns and shillings were always at par, no matter where 
I went, and never refused; and that is more than can be said 
honestly of one-half of the notes of the many swindling banks 
now circulating in our land. 

The Government has established a very convenient system of 
forwarding remittances, which is worth describing. It is con- 
nected with the post-office, and has its branches in every town, 
and nearly every village in the country. The plan is simple and 
reliable. The person remitting goes to the money order office, as 
the head-quarters are called, and obtains a draft for the amount 
required payable at a given place. The order is forwarded by 
mail by the one who bought it; and at the same time information 
is transmitted by the Grovernment agent to the office on which 
the draft is made, stating the sum, and the name of the person 
sending. The person who receives it presents the order; and, 
after signing his name to a receipt on its face, is asked who the 
order is from. If the answer be satisfactory, the amount is paid 
at once; but if not, it is withheld until the one presenting the 
draft shows conclusively that he is the proper recipient. Sixpence 
is charged on sums of five pounds or less, and when the advantages 
are taken into consideration it is very reasonable. Fraud seldom 
or never results from the system, and losses are rare. Some per- 
sons pretend to think the Grovernment has no right to act the 
part of a small exchange broker ; but the majority think other- 
wise, and as the system prevents sharpers from taking advantage 
of the necessities of those who want to make remittances in small 
amounts, it is popular among the masses, and both useful and safe. 

Notices of habits and customs are worthy of record, and probably 
a description of a London barber's shop may not be uninteresting. 
They differ much from the showy and convenient saloons for 
shaving so numerous in the United States, and are neither clean 
nor attractive. The barber is usually a slovenly sort of fellow, 
or an arrant dandy, whose "odoriferous attempts to please" are 
detestable. Hair-dressing is his proper business, and as nearly 
all Englishmen in respectable life shave themselves, the barber 

19* 



222 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

has more use for bis scissors than his razor. The shop is indiffer- 
ently fitted up — the chair for shaving being one of the ordinary 
kind, without a bead-rest or support for the feet, and the subject 
is obliged to sit in it upright, as if invested -with a strait-jacket. 
As soon as he is seated, the knight of the razor applies the soap 
with a brush, and then proceeds to shave — an operation he usually 
performs in a very negligent and imperfect manner. The conveni- 
ences for washing are indifferent, and as the shaved is obliged to 
dress his own hair, he must do so with a public comh, provided for 
the purpose; and also dry his face with the puhlic toicel, both of 
which may have been used by twenty persons before he had 
occasion for them. The charge for the favor is two-pence, or 
about four cents ; but in many cases not more than half that sum 
is demanded, and the service is dearly bought at that. Many 
English travellers in the United States tell stories about people 
here using the same tooth-brush, and in their holy fright at our 
barbarity entirely forget that it is a common thing in England for 
men to use, in a barber's shop, the same shaving-brush, razor, comb, 
hair-brush, and towel, and know very well that no man who gets 
shaved there at a hairdresser's has his own cup, razor, towel, and 
brush, as every permanently resident gentleman has who is shaved 
at a barber's shop in the United States. It is true that we have 
many habits to reform, but there are few only of them worse 
than the one here noticed. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

WAITING FOR REMITTANCES A TRIP INLAND — TRAVELLING 

COMPANIONS — THE COUNTRY THE TOWNS — A JOURNEY ON 

FOOT — FARM WAGES — MEN AND THEIR SHOES — THE LAN- 
■ GUAGE. 

Weary of London, and disappointed in not receiving letters 
from home, I determined to await no longer the tardy action of 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 223 

my friends, but to proceed inland, and visit such parts of the 
country as circumstances would allow and inclination might 
prompt. Yorkshire, although distant from the metropolis, pre- 
sented a region yet unexplored, and various circumstances directed 
me to that section of country. With a sadness, I bade farewell 
to my generous friends in the metropolis, and set out on my jour- 
ney. The rain threatened, and when I arrived at the station it 
was to learn that the hour of departure had been changed, and I 
would of necessity be compelled to wait for a considerable period. 
The time hung heavily on me, and a short stroll in Regent's Park 
did not contribute much to relieve my anxiety. The hour at last 
arrived, and having obtained a comfortable seat, I made myself as 
contented as possible under the circumstances, endeavoring to 
reconcile myself to the stupid company around me. My travel- 
ling companions regarded me as a rara avis, and it was some 
time before they ascertained to what country I belonged. 

^' You are not a Frenchman V said one, with a puzzled look, 
fearful lest he had made a mistake, and yet ambitious to be con- 
sidered an adept in recognizing foreigners. 

'' No ! I am not a Frenchman,'' I replied in a tone by no means 
calculated to encourage or induce further questions. 

" Then your loike to be a Yankee, or Fm greetly mista'en.'^ 

" Yes, I am an American," and then several chimed in and 
gave their opinions of slavery and war. One or two thought 
Jonathan would be too much for John Bull, should another con- 
test arise between the two countries, while others entertained 
opinions to the contrary. ^' The Yankees are too impudent, and 
ought to be thrashed, and the sooner it is done the better." I 
made no answer, expressed no opinion, and consequently provoked 
no ill feeling. Silence is a virtue when a person is in such com- 
pany, and even if it be not so, I was too dejected at the time to 
take much interest in a conversation with those from whom what 
little information I might gain would be of such a character 
as to be scarcely worth preserving. It is said that knowledge 
can be obtained from a jackass, but it would puzzle a good chemist 
to extract the smallest particle of that useful article from a whole 
army of such donkeys as surrounded me at that time. They were 



224 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

the dumbest bipods of the race I ever saw, unquestionably, and 
as boorish as they were dumb. 

We proceeded at a rapid rate, and soon gained the open coun- 
try. The landscapes were lovely, and although the grain had 
been gathered from the fields, the pasture was green, and the 
clumps of wood, and scattered trees, and rich autumnal appear- 
ance of the hedges made a most delightful succession of scenery. 
The interior of England is less wild than the coast sections, and 
more subdued in aspect. Occasionally, the sharp spire or square 
tower of some old village church starts up from among the trees; 
and the quiet hamlets, with straw-thatched roofs, look at a dis- 
tance the very abode of content. The absence of large forests 
and desolate tracts of land contributes greatly to the pleasing ap- 
pearance of the country, and makes one love it, whether he will or 
not ; and, when October's sober brown tinges the hedges, and sears 
the leaves of the scattered trees, and the quiet cattle graze un- 
disturbed on the rich sward of the beautiful fields, and the hazy 
atmosphere sheds a sort of dreamy influence over the landscape, 
one is impressed lastingly with the poetry of the rural life of 
England. 

The rain began to fall heavily, and the day wore away with 
clouds, as we dashed on towards our destination. "We made 
short stops at several stations, but not long enough to allow time 
to visit the interesting objects of the towns at which we tarried. 
The old cathedral of Leicester was too far off for examination, 
and I was compelled to be content with a distant and circum- 
scribed view of its outer walls. It is a pretty structure, and the 
town is famous, for it was there that the noted Cardinal Wolsey 
expired, and other incidents of importance occurred. Loughboro* 
came next, and the dazzling lights of a lace factory told unmis- 
takably how many weary hours the factory-classes are comj^elled 
to labor within the walls of such prison-houses. Night closed in, 
and darkness shut out the landscape. Town after town was 
passed, and at two o'clock in the morning the train arrived at the 
city of York. I took my knapsack, and hunted up a tavern. — 
The landlord descended and admitted me, and as he was in his 
bare feet, I had a sight of two of the dirtiest pedal extremities 



ORj WANDEP.IxNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 225 

ever worn by mortal. They certainly did not argue much for 
the cleanliness of the house or its inmates, but, as I had stopped 
there previously, I knew the place to be clean, and had no cause 
to change my opinion when shown to a room for the balance of 
the night. Everything was comfortable, and as a weary man is 
easily satisfied with a resting-place, after a long travel, in the 
short hours of the night, I soon fell asleep and forgot my troubles, 
both mental and physical, in the enjoyment of peaceful rest. 

The following day dawned gloriously and bright, the rain had 
ceased, and the soft wind blew fresh from the south-west. York 
was clean and gay; its quaint and crooked old streets wore a 
cheerful aspect, and, prompted by their inviting appearance, I 
took a stroll around the proud and lofty Minster for the last 
time. The air was redolent of health and the odor of trees, 
and the town appeared to be enjoying one of Nature's Sabbaths. 
I looked up in admiration to the peerless structure, and entered 
its soaring transept with a heart full of the religion of hope and 
calmness. The dome of heaven, without, lifted my truant thoughts 
to the Great Creator of the Universe, and caused me to muse his 
praise in silence; and the rich tracery and gorgeous productions 
by man within the august pile held my soul captive to sweet and 
pleasing contemplation; the works of the All- Wise Being inspir- 
ed me with gratitude, those of the Mundane claimed my admira- 
tion and praise I But enough of this — 

" Away, nor let me loiter in my song, 
For I liave many a mountain patli to tread," 

and must descend from the sublime to the commonplace things 
of this world. 

At ten o'clock I started for Leeds, a distance of twenty-five 
miles, a journey I determined to accomplish on foot. The day 
was favorable to the undertaking, and with my knapsack and 
staff, pilgrim-like, I took to the road in good spirits. For miles 
there was but little to interest, and the landscape presented no 
remarkable features, either natural or artificial. A few miles to 
my right lay the field of Marston Moor, famous for being the 
scene of a fierce and desperate struggle between the Parliamentary 



226 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j 

troops and those of Charles the First, but except its historical 
celebrity it has no attractions for the visitor at this day. Some 
farm hands and hedgers were at work in the fields and along the 
road-side, but they were a stupid set, and spoke a dialect scarcely 
intelligible. Their condition was poor, and from the amount of 
wages they receive it would be unjust to expect them to live 
better than they do under the circumstances. Seven shillings a 
week for working on a farm from daylight to dark will not aiFord 
a married man, with a wife and three or four children, many com- 
forts ; and if he and his family are ignorant, it is not much won- 
der, and certainly not his fault, when there are no schools but 
such as must be paid for dearly, and no food but what costs ex- 
travagantly. Clownishness and stupidity are the natural results 
of the social and political condition of the rustic population of 
England ; and so long as men are regarded by those who are their 
superiors in wealth and position as but little better than swine, 
so long will the farm hands of Great Britain be held in their 
present condition. In this section of the country, the men wear 
that abominable approximation to a petticoat — the smock-frock, 
and shoes sufficiently heavy to answer the purpose of street 
paving. They plod along with a shuffling gate, and it is not 
surprising when one looks at the immense weight they have 
attached to their feet. I weighed a pair of the shoes, and they 
fell but little short of six pounds and a half, and appeared to me 
to be heavy enough to fix a man to the ground without any fur- 
ther weight. The nails in the soles are oftentimes three-eighths 
of an inch square on the head, and as the bottoms are full of such 
ornaments, the great weight cannot be wondered at. I have 
measured the heels of some of these rustic dancing pumps, and 
found them to be an inch and a half thick, with soles in pro- 
portion, and then filled with the nails above described. 

The language of the great mass of the inhabitants of York- 
shire is a jargon it would be an insult to call Eoglish, and only 
intelligible to those who imbibed it in their childhood, or have 
acquired it by study. But few readers, I presume, are familiar 
w^ith the classical productions of the Lancashire bard, Tim Bob- 
bin^ but if they wish to learn something of the tongue of his 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 227 

section of the worldj they had better obtain a copy of his works, 
and then they will be able to appreciate the beauties of his native 
language, after they have studied it sufficiently to comprehend it 
— a thing not easily done without the aid of a competent linguist. 
He wrote in his vernacular, and as that is the present language 
of Yorkshire, his work is a curiosity. Take the following spe- 
cimen, and it will give some faint idea of the common and usual 
style of speech : — 

"An ther wur a peinter that lived unce at Halifax (but hes 
been livin a Froglan a mony a yer sin), an int' order o' his per- 
fesshun he wor called aught o't'tawen t-goa t-at gentlemans hawse 
to tak t'likeness o' sum o' his cattle I" That may be considered 
fair — not exaggerated — but much better than is generally spoken, 
and yet it would puzzle any but a linguist to tell what is meant 
by it. To translate it into English, it would be : " And there 
was a painter that lived once at Halifax (but he has been living 
at Frogland for many a year since), and in the order of his pro- 
fession he was called out of town to go to a gentleman's house, 
to take the likeness of some of his cattle.'' The grammatical 
arrangement is not correct, but the paragraph is copied literally 
from a printed work, and is nearly an exact specimen of the best 
of the spoken language of the country people of Yorkshire and 
Lancashire. I frequently met with persons whose speech was so 
outrageous that I could not understand what they said, and they 
were equally at a loss to comprehend me. 

The road over which I travelled is through a gently rising country, 
and, like the majority of the highways in England, it has a foot- 
walk running its entire length. For miles this way is flagged, 
and were it not for the continuous hedges and open country, the 
pedestrian would almost imagine himself on the edge of a town, 
while following its level course. I entered the village of Tadcaster 
about noon, and, after dinner, looked around the place. My land- 
lord was one of those who judge of people's pockets by the ap- 
pearance of their garments — a practice not confined to England; 
and when the servant asked the price of ray bread and cheese, 
some questions were propounded to which I was an accidental 
listener. 



228 

"Is he dressed well?" was inquired by the host ; and, a satisfac- 
tory answer being given, the waiter was directed to charge me seven 
pence ha'penny for what a person poorly clad would have had to 
pay about four pence. I settled the score, knowing well that it 
would be the last one I would ever pay in that house, and went 
out to look at the village, which is a pleasant place, quite clean, 
and blest with streets much wider than those of many other ham- 
lets in which it has been my lot to rest. 

The River Wharf flows through the place, and as it is clear and 
placid, it contrasts strongly with the black waters of the streams, 
which run through the manufacturing towns. A fine stone bridge 
spans the current a short distance above, where is a beautiful arti- 
ficial cascade, which far surpasses all the natural falls I saw in the 
island. The church is an old Gothic structure, with a square tower, 
and stands in a bower of trees on the river's bank. Time has 
dealt harshly with its walls, and but little care is taken of the 
burial-ground around the edifice. Children were romping among 
the tombs when I was there, and cattle were cropping the grass, 
which grew on the hillocks, under which 

*' The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." 

As I pursued my course towards Leeds, the land became more 
elevated, and the village spires shot heavenward from the distant 
valleys. Large farm-houses occasionally met my view, and their 
appearance was so different from what I had seen in other parts 
that I could not fail to notice them. The barns, in most cases, 
were immense, and strongly resembled those of Lancaster County, 
Pennsylvania. Some were of brick, others of stone, and all sub- 
stantially built. The farm-yards were filled with large stacks of 
grain, for it is a custom to keep the wheat in the ear, in many 
cases, until there is a demand for it, or it is sold; and, conse. 
quently, it is housed or stacked under a thatched cover. Numbers 
of cattle were grazing in the pasture lands, and once in a while I 
met a drove of well fed mutton on its way to market. The drovers 
were accompanied by one or two shepherd dogs — an animal which, 
for sagacity, surpasses all the canine species we have amongst us. 
They are wonderful, and it is surprising to see them keep a flock 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 229 

of sheep under control. If one goes out of the direct route, the 
dog, unbidden, dashes ahead, and drives the wanderer back to 
the flock. Sometimes, when in a hurry, he bounds over every 
obstacle in his course, and the backs of the sheep afford him a 
safe bridge in his determination to get ahead. If the drove 
comes to a crossroad, he keeps in front, and watches vigilantly the 
flock under his charge. If one attempts to take the wrong course, 
away he goes, and, by barking and following it up, drives it back 
to the throng, and waits quietly until all have passed, when he 
moves on in their wake, carelessly, and apparently indifferent to 
his charge. But a want of vigilance is not a characteristic of 
him. He is ever watchful, and never neglects his duty, and 
when occasion requires, is quick to perform his part. He is of a 
small race, has the appearance of a hungry wolf, with a sharp face, 
and a restless and ever-watchful eye, and, to take his performances 
as an evidence of his worth, he is the most valuable of the canine 
tribe. 

A few miles to the south-west of Tadcaster, I met an 
African — one of the blackest of that sooty race. He was dressed 
rather fantastically, and meeting him, as I did, in such a remote 
section of the world, my curiosity was excited as to who and what 
he was. On inquiry, he told me he was a native of Congo, 
on the coast of Africa, and had been in England eight years. His 
main support was derived from the sale of books, and he had with 
him a number of volumes, which he was trying to dispose of to 
the country people. He said that he was not successful in his 
business in the section of country through which he was then 
passing, and found no encouragement to proceed. His speech was 
broken, and strongly marked with the negro accent ; but I am free 
to say that he spoke English much better than many of the natives 
with whom I conversed. After parting from him a short time, Q 
I met a white woman with two children, and it did not require 
much penetration to satisfy me that the curlj'-- headed urchins, 
who called her mother, were the offspring of herself and the Afri- 
can, with whom I had so recently been in conversation. The boys d^ 
were of a light brown complexion, and had all the characteristics of 
a thorough amalgamation of colors in their hue and features. The 
20 



230 

■white predominated, however, and altogether the young sprouts of 
the two races were rather prepossessing than otherwise. The mo- 
ther was a fair specimen of the lower class of English women, and 
appeared to be proud of her ebony progeny, and happy in the love 
of her black lord, who was certainly as sooty as the most particular 
delineator of Shakspeare could desire Othello to be, though there is 
little reason to suppose that he entertained the jealous feeling of 
the Moor, for he was of a cheerful and contented disposition. 

A short distance on my right, when a few miles from Tadcaster, 
I passed a village called Towton, celebrated for a battle fought 
near it, on Palm Sunday, 1641, between the rival houses of York 
and Lancaster, in the famous wars of the Roses. At a few hun- 
dred yards from the village, is an obelisk of about forty feet in 
heioht ; but I was unable to learn what it was placed there for, 
although it may, properly, be conjectured that it was erected to 
commemorate the scene of battle. As I neared Leeds, the country 
became quite thickly spotted with villages, but none of them were 
on the road. The famous residence of the once powerful Knights 
Templar lay but a few miles to my left ; and, being desirous to see 
the renowned edifice, I diverged from my direct course, and paid 
it a visit. The reader of " Ivanhoe" will recollect it as Templestowe, 
and as being the scene of the interview between Isaac of York and 
the Knights, when the Jew paid the place a visit for the purpose 
of effecting the release of his daughter. It is called Temple New- 
sam at this time, and is occupied by a gentleman who is said to 
be a lineal descendant of one of the soldier priests. The lands 
attached to the estate are very extensive, and but few places, even 
in that beautiful country, can boast finer prospects, or nobler elms 
and oaks than the lordly domain of Temple Newsam. The man- 
sion stands on the side of a hill, and is almost encircled by trees. 
In front opens a most living and peaceful landscape, and the mind 
of the visitor is impressed with the princely manner of life enjoyed 
by those who erected and inhabited the old pile. It is, in form, 
three sides of a quadrangle, and the main entrance-door on the west 
side of the noble court-yard is adorned on either side with a full 
length figure of a Knight Templar, in the peculiar dress of that 
order; while over the doorway is the bust of some person, either 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 231 

real or fabulous. The battlements around the top of the house, 
facing the court-yard, are ornamented with mottoes in large Roman 
capitals, which, as nearly as I could copy them, are as follows : — ■ 

" All glory and praise be given to God, the Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost on high. 
Peace on earth and good will towards men; and 
Honor and true allegiance to our gracious King, and 

LOVING affection AMONGST HIS SUBJECTS. 

Health and plenty be within this house." 

The letters have a singular appearance, and the old mansion, 
with its strange ornaments and antiquated look, comes nearer to 
my ideal of a baronial hall than any other building I saw in the 
land. It is the very place for happiness, and its historical asso- 
ciations, aside from the charms thrown over it by the novelist, 
make it a place of interest; and the man who could not enjoy life 
within its great walls should be compelled to live in the filthy 
town, whose tall tapering chimneys and black smoke rise in full 
view from the rear of the mansion. 

Seven miles distant, 1 distinctly saw the dark vapors from its 
countless manufactories, hovering over the great cloth town. They 
ascended into the pure air above, and polluted it as you would a 
crystal stream by pouring ink of the blackest hue into its trans- 
parent waters. Where I stood, the atmosphere was pure and 
uncontaminated, and the dewy air was laden with health to those 
who were fortunate enough to inhale it, while in the distant town 
the overworked artisan and eager citizen were breathing an 
element thick with smoke and productive of disease. Weary 
and sore, I entered Leeds, and plodded my way along its crooked, 
steep, and dirty streets to a comfortable, and to me welcome inn, 
at which rest and quiet were to be commanded. After a good 
supper, I enjoyed a night of sweet refreshing sleep. 



232 THE FOOTPATH AND JTIGHWAY 



CHAPTER XX I y. 

LEEDS AND HER MANUFACTURES — AYORKING PEOPLE — KIRK- 
STALL ABBEY. 

Leeds bears a strong resemblance to Sheffield, and the person 
who visits both places will at once notice the fact. Some of the 
principal streets of the cloth city are clean, and as they are well 
paved with cubical blocks of stone, they present a better appear- 
ance than any of the thoroughfares of Sheffield. Both towns 
are situated on hills and surrounded by hills, or nearly so, and 
both abound in the suburbs in crooked, steep, and filthy streets. 
Over each there is a continual cloud of smoke, and the clearest 
day or brightest sun cannot dispel the blackness from the atmo- 
sphere. Here the comparison ends, and Leeds, probably, has 
the worst of it. There is a large number of courts, or, as they 
are locally termed, yards, in the town, and they are the hotbeds 
of misery and degradation. They are the slums of the place, 
and the residences of the poor, or the workshops or business-places 
of the small manufacturers of Leeds. They are generally entered 
through arched ways from the streets ; and there are but few of 
the main thoroughfares, in what may be considered the old part 
of the town, that do not contain more inhabitants in these obscure 
courts and alleys than live in the houses in front. 

The streets most deserving notice are Briggate, Xorth Street, 
Commercial Street, and Yv^ood-house Lane. The shops on the 
first named are quite imposing, and many of them are as taste- 
fully fitted up as those of London. The town is situate on both 
banks of a stream about thirty yards wide, dignified by the name 
of river; but its black and filthy waters and narrow limits do not 
extort from the stranger admiration. 

The woollen manufacture of England is principally confined to 
Yorkshire, and Leeds is the centre of the business. There are 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 233 

immense cloth establishments in the town, and large quantities 
of cassimeres, broadcloths, and kerseys are annuall}^ made and 
sold in it. The markets are held on Tuesdays and Saturdays, in 
buildings erected expressly for the purpose, and nearly all the 
sales take place in those concerns, and at the times named. The 
manufacturers or merchants assemble at a specified time, each 
behind a stand or counter on which are exposed samples of goods, 
and there the sales are effected. The prices of cloths are much 
lower than one would suppose. None of those manufactures that 
I saw exposed for sale exceeded in price twelve shillings per yard 
by the piece, and none of them were of an inferior quality of 
broadcloths. The stock is usually large and various, and the 
purchaser can obtain almost any amount or quality of woollens 
he desires. 

The town is a filthy one, and the constant cloud of black smoke 
which hovers over it gives almost everything an aspect of gloom. 
The houses are black, the stream that flows through the place 
black, and some of the inhabitants are only one shade lighter than 
very many negroes. At the dinner hour, the streets are to 
a certain extent thronged with the operatives of the factories, and 
their appearance is by no means favorable. The women are either 
bareheaded or barefooted, and the men are dressed in greasy 
clothes, or what may properly be termed rags. Their faces bear 
no marks of intellectual cultivation, and their language is a jargon 
scarcely intelligible, while their conversation is generally upon 
some species of brutal amusement. I occasionally went of an 
evening to a drinking concern where some of them assembled, and 
there was nothing to be seen there that impressed me with a favor- 
able opinion of their morals or education. Drinking ale and 
smoking tobacco in long pipes were their common evening amuse- 
ments, and when a little fuddled they indulged in most vulgar and 
obscene language. Gin-palaces and ale-houses absorb the greater 
portion of their leisure time, and there are but few of them who 
regularly attend the Mechanics' Institutes, or the lecture-rooms 
of the place. Some of them are able to read, but the number of 
such is small in proportion to the mass who cannot, and there is 
but little prospect of the rising generation being much superior to 

20* 



234 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

tlie present in that particular. One of the principal causes which 
operate to degrade the laborers and mechanics of the manufactur- 
ing towns and districts is the common use of ale as a beverage, 
both among men and women. It is considered indispensable at 
the table, and a meal without it is not regarded complete. The habit 
of drinliing grows with the individual from childhood, and as he in- 
creases in years he generally increases the quantity he consumes. 
As an evidence of the general use of the article, I may mention 
an incident that occurred to me when on my walk from York to 
Leeds. I was very thirsty, and stopped at a cottage door, where 
I asked for a glass of water. The woman looked at me a while, and 
told me she had no water on hand, but she would sell me a glass 
of beer, which I of course declined. She kept beer in the house, 
but no water, and that in the country, at a considerable distance 
from a city. 

The wages of the operatives at Leeds do not differ from those 
paid in other manufacturing towns, and when you ask the amount 
usually given to a person for a particular service, the answer is a 
few shillings more or less per week, but never over a dollar per 
day. Kents are high when the taxes are taken into the account, 
a very important item by the way, in the English tenant's yearly 
expenses, for the landlords rent their houses with the express un- 
derstanding that the renter is to pay the church-rates and taxes, 
which usually amount to an additional sum equal to one-half of 
the rent. Provisions are dearer than with us, newspapers are 
about ten times as expensive, and almost everything excepting 
the article of clothing is, at a fair calculation, twice as costly 
as the same things are in the United States, nor are they as a 
general rule superior to ours. The meats and some few fruits 
are better than the American, but the prices demanded are much 
higher than are paid in the States. How the poor live is a mystery, 
and the only rational conclusion that can be got at is that they 
do not live, but drag out a miserable existence, in a condition a 
little better than starvation, and sustain their spirits by the con- 
stant use of ale. 

To say that all the factory hands and operatives are ale-drinkers 
and ignoramuses would be unjust to a number of the class, who 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 235 

are in reality the salt of the land, but unfortunately they are a 
small band, and cannot exercise suflScient influence over the larger 
class to effect a visible improvement in the mass of the present 
generation. The temperance cause wants more advocates among 
them, and those who will go out into the highways as missionaries 
in the cause. A practical advocate of temperance could do some- 
thing ; not one who preaches total abstinence and practises ale- 
drinking, but one who acts up to his profession. In the days of 
Franklin, the English workmen drank beer, and all the efforts of 
that philosopher failed to effect a reformation among his shopmates; 
and it will take a man with all of Franklin's arguments and all 
his energy to destroy the fashion of drinking ale that prevails to 
this day among the English ; but it can be done, and it is to be 
hoped that the thing will be accomplished, at least partially, 
before the rising generation reaches the years of maturity. 

The Briggate, or principal street of the town, is lined on both 
sides to a considerable extent (of a Saturday evening) with booths 
and stalls for the sale of various articles of use and comfort. The 
market space, in a different section of the town, is the great resort, 
and there one can see English low life to perfection on a market 
night. The poor throng the place in search of such articles as 
they can afford to purchase, and they seldom buy more than a 
few pounds of meat and potatoes, or, perhaps, apples or pears, 
all of which are sold by weight in England. The space is an open 
square, occupied on market-day by such as obtain the privilege of 
a place. The collection is a motley one, and the observer can 
see, arranged around in carts, on stalls, or on the ground, quanti- 
ties of earthenware, hardware, potatoes, apples, peas, calicoes, hats, 
shoes, and trumpery of every description. Men, women, and 
children, dressed indifferently, crowd the alleys and keep up a 
constant Babel with their outrageous pronunciation. Punch and 
Judy shows, or something quite as intellectual and instructive, 
give variety to the medley j and a wandering German boy may 
be met in one section with his organ, playing, in no unmusical 
strains, the sweet and plaintive air of ^' ! Susannah, don't you 
cry for me !" or the once cherished American song of "Carry 
me back to Old Virginny's shore !'^ It is strange to hear these 



236 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

tunes of a Saturday night, in an English town, gushing from the 
pipes of an instrument manufactured on the Rhine, and borne 
about by a fairhaired boy from Bavaria. I met such minstrels 
often in my rambles, and travelled for miles with them along the 
secluded lanes and by-ways of Old England ; and let others say 
what they please against the itinerant organ, I ask to be allowed 
the indulgence of my taste in listening to the much abused and 
despised instrument, particularly when playing in my dreaming 
ear in a foreign clime the sweet airs of the land which is my birth- 
right. 

Through the friendship and influence of an American gentleman, 
resident in Leeds, I was enabled to visit one of the large woollen 
establishments of the town. The factory is distant a few miles 
from the city, and as every branch of the business of cloth-making, 
from the raw article to the perfect finish, is carried on in the con- 
cern, there was abundant opportunity afforded me for careful 
observation. The manner of manufacture and the machinery did 
not impress me asdiiferent from what we have in usej and, except 
the quality of the cloths and the extent of the place, there was 
nothing deserving particular mention. The manufactures con- 
sisted of cassimeres, broadcloths, and kerseys, of various qualities 
and styles, the principal portion of which was dyed in the piece. 
One of the workmen conducted me through the building, and as 
he was rather talkative, he ventured to make an advocate of free 
trade of me, and stated that our protective tariff was of little con- 
sequence, as it was systematically and successfully evaded by 
several extensive woollen houses in Leeds, the partners in which 
had their agents in the United States for the express purpose of 
smuggling. His statement may be true, and as he spoke confi- 
dently, he certainly believed it himself. 

Li my endeavors to obtain statistical information respecting 
manufactures, and other matters of importance, I found great dif- 
ficulty, and was often surprised at the small number of persons, 
even among those who might be presumed to know, who were able 
to give me reliable information of the character I sought. Statis- 
tics do not receive so much attention in England as in the United 
States, and it is only the few who take an interest in them. In 



237 

my endeavors to learn something of the number of woollen facto- 
ries in Leeds, I met with no encouragement whatever. The editors 
and publishers of newspapers knew nothing of the matter, and all 
looked astonished when I asked the question. It may be stated 
as a fact, without fear of contradiction, that there are not fifty 
persons in Leeds who can tell the exact number of woollen manu- 
factories in the town, although it is the centre of the cloth trade 
in Yorkshire, and contains more establishments in that line than 
any other town in England. Through the kindness, and com- 
mendable determination to serve me, of one of the clerks in a news- 
paper-office, I obtained a statement of the number of spindles and 
hands employed, and as it is an abridgment from a parliamentary 
report it is reliable. Other manufactures are named; but it is to 
the cloth business that I confine myself. There were in York- 
shire, in 1850, five hundred and thirty-two woollen factories for 
spinning only — the greatest number in any one place being in 
Leeds — with 629,838 spindles, and an aggregate horse-power, 
steam and water combined, of 7431; furnishing employment for 
20,153 persons, of which number 5063 were females above thir- 
teen years, and 5819 boys, from thirteen to eighteen years of age, 
the balance being males above eighteen. Of weaving factories 
there were 180 in the county, employing 295,611 spindles, 3604 
power-looms, and 14,002 hands, of whom 7000 were females. Of 
other woollen factories, not enumerated in the above, there were 
159, employing 6128 persons, the number of spindles, &c., not 
being named. This does not include the worsted mills, which, 
although, strictly speaking, woollen manufactories, are arranged 
under another bead. The number of yards of cloth annually ma- 
nufactured is not given, nor are the wages stated; but it appears 
that there has been an increase throughout the kingdom, since 
1834, of 51 per cent, in the woollen and worsted factories, and 
an increase of hands employed of 116 per cent. The consump- 
tion of foreign and colonial wools, which form less than one-half 
of that consumed, has advanced 64 per cent, in the same period. 
From this statement, necessarily much abridged, it will be ob- 
served that the manufacture is extensive, and its increase astonish- 



238 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

ing. The mills in Wales and the West of England are but few 
compared with those of Yorkshire. 

Leeds is not famous for any events in the history of England, 
and, with the exception of a ruined abbej'' a short distance from 
the town, has no monuments of antiquity. The old monastery is 
in the usual form of a cross, and although built of common and 
rough stone, it is massive and imposing. Like all similar struc- 
tures, it lies in a secluded valley, near a stream, and its great ex- 
tent, even in decay, tells plainly how important it was in bygone 
years. Cattle were quietly feeding within its walls when I was 
there, and my echoing tread scared a flock of rooks from their 
nests in the dark ruin, and caused them to wheel through the air, 
screaming and cawing above my head. Cattle and crows are the 
present occupants of the once holy abode of the abbot, the bishop, 
and the monk. How wonderful are thy changes, Time ! 



CHAPTER XXy. 

HARROWGATE — KNARESBOROUGH — EUGENE ARAM — RIPON — 
FOUNTAIN ABBEY — BRIMHAM ROCKS — REFLECTIONS. 

I LOVE the deep, fadeless green of the English landscape, and 
glory in a ramble along the roads, when the sun is bright, and 
the native birds sing sweetly from the gay hedges. Others may 
fly through the island at railway speed ; but give me the roads, 
the glorious roads of old England, for a ramble, and I'll enjoy the 
scenery and the attractions around, as none can enjoy them but 
the pedestrian. By rail, things are seen as we see the passing 
beauties of a moving panorama, for a moment only; but the 
^' view afoot'^ is far otherwise. You unroll the scene at your 
pleasure — you gaze on what interests you most, until your senses 
become intoxicated with the beauty of nature or the allurements 
of art, and feel that you are really reaping advantages unknown 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 239 

to those wlio move, mere birds of passage, over the country, and 
not through it. 

The land may be uneven, but the roads are smooth and level, 
and so admirably constructed as to extort admiration from him 
whose lot it is to ramble at will along them. It is worth an 
American's while to go to England, if for nothing but to see 
the splendid roads and soft verdure of the fields. There is 
scarcely a turnpike in the island that is not as smooth as a floor, 
and in many places I have seen men repairing them where it was 
impossible for me to discover a necessity for their doing so. 
When away from the towns, you are away from the smoke that 
envelops them, and live in an atmosphere healthful and pure. 
Nature and science enrich the landscape, the villages have an an- 
cient, indescribable air, and the rustic population is in strong con- 
trast with the refined and educated middle class of the realm. 
There is a want of independence in the English peasant, growing 
out of his admiration of wealth and titles, that degrades him, and 
makes him appear servile to an American. He is rude and 
ignorant, but neither impudent nor forward to those he considers 
his equals, in which respect he differs greatly from the Irish. 
He has some dignity of character even with his rudeness, and 
when made an equal by those whose circumstances are better 
than his, seldom assumes to himself that importance so readily 
put on by the Hibernian peasant when a superior person is dis- 
posed to be sociable with him. There is a wide difference between 
the two classes of peasantry, and I am ready to confess the En- 
glish infinitely the superior. 

On the road from Leeds to Harrowgate, there was opportunity 
afforded me to observe their way of living, but it did not differ 
from what I saw in other sections. It was the old story as to 
wages, and the same statement as to food. Many of them had 
never been ten miles from home, and either did not, or pretended 
not to know anything about the country. Some of them were 
able to tell how far it was to the next village, provided they lived 
within two or three miles of it, but it seldom occurred that I met 
one whose knowledge of the country extended beyond that dis- 
tance from where he resided. I several times asked how far I 



240 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

was from Ilarrowgate, wben within eight miles of the place, and 
one said, ''I doon't knaw V another scratched his head and reclwned 
" it be five miles ;" while a third made it ten. There was au 
evident indiflference as to a knowledge of the country about them 
that surprised me, and an adherence to the customs of their fath- 
ers quite in character with their ignorance of the world outside 
of the villages in which they dwelt. 

Harrowgate is celebrated for its mineral springs, is a fashionable 
resort, and pleasant residence. The principal portion of it stands 
on an elevated plateau, which commands a splendid prospect of 
the country in every direction ; taking in, in clear weather, a dis- 
tant view of York Minster, and the dreary wolds of the East 
Riding of Yorkshire. The town is built principally around the 
outer edge of a circle, footpaths leading through the centre, but 
no roads. Hotels are numerous, and the visitor can be accommo- 
dated at a cost of from four to twenty shillings per day, according 
to his propensity to be fashionable. The springs are highly com- 
mended by the medical profession for their mineral properties, and 
are usually well attended. They were discovered in the latter 
part of the sixteenth century by an English nobleman, whose 
estate inclosed them, after he had been running all over the Con- 
tinent to derive benefits from the most celebrated springs there. 
The story goes that he returned in a more feeble condition than 
he left, and was cured at last by the medicinal water which he 
had ignorantly neglected at his own door. 

The place is amply provided with lodging-houses, and comforts 
are readily obtained. I was fortunate in procuring quarters with 
an old widow lady, whose father, she informed me, was an Ameri- 
can citizen, but not a very good one, I fear, as she exultingly stated 
that he was a spectator of the engagement between the Shannon 
and Chesapeake from Boston Harbor, and inwardly gloried when 
he saw the English frigate capture the American. I sarcastically 
intimated that her father, if an American citizen by adoption at 
the time, was what might be called a perjured man without fear 
of contradiction, and therefore no credit to her. She said but 
little more about him, but treated me with marked kindness and 
reoiard. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 241 

Knaresborough lies about three miles to the east of Harrowgate, 
and although famous for its ruined castle, and the siege it sus- 
tained during the civil wars, is more frequently visited on account 
of the celebrated Eugene Aram, than for either the beauty of 
its location, or the curiosities in its vicinity, of which there are not 
a few. The town is romantically situated on the Nidd, a rapid 
stream which foams through a valley hemmed in by towering rocks 
and high perpendicular banks. The ruins of the castle are bold 
and jagged, and stand like the town, on a lofty cliff which over- 
hangs the roaring, dashing little river. It was one of the prisons 
of Kichard the Second, and afforded shelter to Fitz Urse, De 
Tracy, Brito, and Sir Hugh de Morville, the murderers of Thomas 
a Becket, in the days of Henry the Second. A storm came up 
while I was rambling around its walls, and the old gateway over 
the dungeon afforded me protection from the rain, one of the best 
uses probably ever made of it. 

The church, a fine specimen of Gothic architecture, contains the 
tombs of the Slingsby family, a once powerful name in the manor 
of Knaresborough, now extinct. There lay the effigies of the 
dead in coats of mail, stretched at full length on the musty tombs. 
They are sad and solemn, and the beholder is half inclined to be- 
lieve the figures are those of petrified men. 

Nearly opposite the castle, across the river, is what is called a 
dropping well, being nothing more, however, than a small stream 
of water possessing petrifying qualities conducted over a rock, so 
as to be continually dropping into the reservoir below. St. Ro- 
bert's Cave is a short distance down the river, and the cupidity of 
the owners has prompted them to convert it into a show, at a 
shilling per head. It will be remembered that it was at this cave 
that a skeleton was discovered in 1759, which led to the arrest, 
trial, and execution of Eugene Aram, a name made celebrated by 
the eloquence of him who bore it, and the genius of Bulwer. 
Becent excavations have been made in the vicinity, and a grave 
discovered in the ruins of a small chapel, located immediately in 
front of the cave, but no human remains found in it. Some per- 
sons consider this a strong argument in favor of Aram's innocence 
of the crime for which he suffered, and as it is known that the 
21 



242 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ', 

hermit died, and was buried near the cell, it is presumed that, as 
there were no bones discovered in the grave, those said to have 
been Clark's (the murdered man's), were in reality the remains of 
the anchorite. But whether guilty or not, Aram suffered death, 
and was hung in chains and quartered near the town, as a terror 
to evil-doers; and if it be ascertained at this late date that he 
died innocently, all we can do is to remove the stigma of murder 
from his character, and place him among those who have forfeited 
their lives to the blind prejudice and wilful credulity of an igno- 
rant age. The house in which he taught school stands where it 
stood when he instructed youth within its walls, but it no longer 
echoes to the murmurs of slothful urchins in the act of conning 
over lessons, but is used as an ale-brewery. Some of the inhabit- 
ants with whom I conversed were firm believers in the school- 
master's guilt, and as they were taught in their childhood to con- 
sider him a murderer, it would be a difficult task to convince them 
of his innocence now. 

The town has crooked, steep, narrow, irregular streets, but is 
still a most picturesque place; and a splendid railway bridge over 
the Nidd adds to its romantic appearance in connection with the 
scarred and jagged ruins of the castle. There is a dreamy air 
about it, reminding one of the olden time, and the curfew is 
rung nightly within its bounds, but only as a custom of the Nor- 
man rule, and under far different regulations from those imposed 
by William the Conqueror. In his days the sound of the curfew 
was a signal for extinguishing all lights and fires under a penalty 
of punishment or fine; but, at this period, the bell, which 
usually tolls at eight o'clock in the evening, is no more than 
the harmless continuation of a custom which originated in a bar- 
barous age for the protection of conquerors against the probable 
revolt of a subjugated people. Knaresborough was burned by the 
Normans, and suffered severely in the conflicts between rival 
factions in subsequent years. 

The curfew is rung in nearly all the cathedral towns of Eng- 
land, and many of the smaller places. I have often listened to 
the bell at a distance as the sound came floating over lowly mead 
and bosky dell, and as the tones of the iron monitor trembled in 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 243 

the air my thoughts would involuntarily go back to the age of 
conquest, when mailed warrior and rustic churl obeyed alike its 
summons on the very ground whereon I stood. 

About eleven miles north of Harrowgate stands the beautiful city 
of Ripon, on an elevated piece of ground near two inconsiderable 
streams, the Ure and Skell,and on the edge of the moors, although 
in a productive and highly cultivated part of Yorkshire. It is 
ancient, and contains a cathedral of fine proportions, the main 
attraction of the place. I was conducted through its lengthened 
nave and lofty choir, and whilst within its walls the impressive 
service of the English Church was begun, and the sweet tones of 
the rich organ filled the interior with a flood of harmonious 
sounds in conjunction with the fine voices of the youthful 
choristers. The building is imposing, though not very large. 
Under the chapter-house there is a charnel full of human bones, 
piled up in regular order around the walls like so many articles 
of trade. There are hills of skulls with their lustreless and eyeless 
sockets turned on the beholder, and arms and other bones arranged 
like pieces of wood. Those who like such exhibitions can satisfy 
their curiosity and indulge their tastes in llipon Cathedral ; but 
I beg to bo excused hereafter from visiting such museums, no 
matter where they may be located. The city has but few other 
attractions; the chief of which is an obelisk of some ninety feet in 
height in the market space, and it can be seen at a distance of 
several miles. As there are but few, if any manufactories at 
llipon, it has a clear atmosphere, and quiet, neat aspect. 

I walked out to Studley Royal, the seat of Earl Grey, one of 
those magnificent abodes of the nobility for which England is 
so famous. My route was agreeable, and as I turned occasionally 
towards the town, the tall market cross and stately fane rose full 
to view. Many of the houses on the road-side were overhung 
with ivy and jessamine flowers, bright beautiful homes, the seem- 
ing abodes of content. Hedgerows flanked the turnpike, and the 
gardens of the cottages were rich in exotic and other flowers. 

I turned from the road into an old path, one of those ancient 
privileges the sturdy Britons so ardently contend for against the 
rapacity of landholders, and at the end of half an hour entered 



244 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

the park of Studley Royal. The grounds are laid out in drives 
and walks, lined with fine old shade trees. Upwards of four hun- 
dred deer of various kinds were feeding on the sward or reposing 
in groups beneath the oaks, and as my truant step disturbed them 
they would bound away into the denser forest or to the rich mea- 
dows in the distance. About midway of the park I turned into 
a walk leading under an archway formed by a number of tall beech 
trees whose branches intertwined like the groinings of a Gothic 
roof in some lofty minster, and emerged upon the shore of an 
artificial lake formed by damming up the waters of the Skell. 
The scene was sylvan and peaceful. A little further beyond, I 
entered the lodge, and after paying a small fee for a guide visited 
the principal objects of interest in the grounds. The river is a 
mere rill, not more than ten yards wide ; but art has done much 
to make it beautiful, and it flows for a considerable distance be- 
tween walls of stone in a straight line, which are covered with 
perennial verdure. Lodges and temples are interspersed among 
the trees and along the stream, and many good copies of antique 
sculpture are placed at favorable points throughout the parks. 
The ruins of Fountain Abbey, justly regarded the noblest of the 
kind in the countr}^, lie in a secluded valley near the Skell in the 
confines of the park. The site of the monastery was well chosen. 
It was granted to several monks who adopted the Cistercian order, 
by Archbishop Thurston, in 1132; and, although the originators 
of the establishment were poor, and the place suiFered severely by 
fire in its early history, it eventually became one of the most 
wealthy monasteries in the kingdom. The buildings were immense 
and numerous, and as the church and cloisters are in excel- 
lent preservation, there is much to interest the student of architec- 
ture. Extensive excavations made within a few years have re- 
vealed foundations lost to sight for ages. These are clearly the 
remains of detached buildings used by officers of the establishment 
in its palmy days, when it was the hostelrie of the weary traveller 
and home of the friendless and poor. A quantity of silver coins, 
io all three hundred and fifty-four pieces, bearing date 1640, was 
exhumed at the time, and the conclusion is that they were buried 
among the ruins in the civil wars. The interior of the church is 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 245 

imposing, its arches and columns being curtained with ivy. The 
entire length is about three hundred feet, including the lady 
chapel. The tower, one hundred and sixty-six feet high, is in a 
good state of preservation — solid, massive, and grand. It is 
adorned with several Latin inscriptions in black letter. The 
transepts are one hundred and thirty -five feet long, the nave one 
hundred and ninety-nine feet, and the cloisters, the most perfect 
section of the ruins, three hundred feet in length. They are 
groined and arched throughout the entire distance. They do not, 
as in other monasteries, form the sides of a quadrangle, but are 
in a straight line. To the south of the building, near the cloisters, 
are several large yew-trees, said to be full thirteen hundred years 
old, under which the monks are represented to have taken shelter 
during the erection of the abbey. The Norman, early English, 
and pointed Gothic styles abound in various sections, it having 
been erected at different periods from 1132 to 1494, the date of 
the building of the tower, the last addition to the sacred pile. My 
guide was an intelligent countryman, very anxious to give me all 
the information respecting the ruin he possessed; and as we were 
turning from the lady chapel, he directed my attention to a stone 
coffm, in which he stated Henry Percy, first Earl of North- 
umberland, was buried in 1315, but both the lid and remains have 
gone to dust, so that the grave is tenantless. It may have been 
Percy's tomb, hui not Percy the Jirst; lie came with William the 
Conqueror, in 1000, and it is not likely that he lived three hun- 
dred years ! 

The establishment was complete in its entire economy, and the 
old mill, in which the meal used by the monks was manufactured, 
is used to this day for grinding corn. 

After a stay of several hours, I took my departure for Harrow- 
gate, and walked through a dreary country, along secluded lanes 
and by-paths, to the Brimham Eocks, a number of huge and 
singularly disposed rocks, of strange shapes and various sizes, 
conjectured to have been the principal altars of the Druids, in the 
north of England. As I approached them, they presented the ap- 
pearance of a ruined city scattered over an immense surface; and 
when among them, I saw but little that bore marks of human 

21* 



246 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

labor or ingenuity. The old man who haunted them pointed out 
several for which he had particular names, and those used as high 
altars by the Druids. The scene was dreary and desolate; the 
fierce winds from the north-west moaned among the weather-worn 
rocks, and howled across the sterile moors; while the flying clouds 
and dull sky threw a shade of awe over the solitary waste. I was 
Bot in a mood to encourage the talkative hermit of the place, and, 
slowly plodding my way homeward, I fell into a train of reflec- 
tions upon the scenes I witnessed during the day, and the events 
that had transpired in the country through which I was passing. 
Years ago, thought I, the rude Briton trod these barren hills, 
roamed in savage independence over these moors, and bowed in 
fear and wonder to the Druid brethren, whose simple altars stand 
to this day in solitary grandeur upon the spot where the doctrines 
of their order were undisputed. Then came the warrior cohorts 
of Rome, in victorious marches, and the sheen of their spears and 
helmets flashed in the sunlight. As conquerors, they advanced 
civilization at the dagger's point, and set up their gods in the 
place of the Druid deities. For four hundred years they held 
sway; but at last, when effeminacy corrupted the Roman people, 
the soldier was required at home. He left the land to the mer- 
cies of the fearless Saxon, and his noble works and proud temples 
to decay. The Danes came next, contending with the Saxons for 
supremacy, and the land of the natives was the prize. Wars, 
long and terrible, followed, and the light of Christianity slowly 
burned. The religion of the cross succeeded the pagan rites of 
the Briton, the Bonian, tlie Dane, and Saxon. The priests who 
officiated at the shrines of those people abandoned their profession, 
and the new creed became supreme. Abbeys and monasteries 
arose. The brethren of the cowl and crozier exerted an influence 
over the minds of the people equal to unlimited power. The Con- 
queror came, and the Saxon and Briton were the Norman's slaves. 
Castles were built, feudal systems established, domestic dissensions 
created, wars followed, and rival houses strove for supremacy. 
A corrupt king expelled the monks, and the monasteries became 
deserted places. They are now the abodes of the rook and bit- 
tern, the bat and the owl. Race followed race, nation succeeded 



OR, AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICxlN. 247 

to nation J religion to religion. These wild hills have witnessed 
the ceremonies of all creeds, from ''Jove to Jesus;" and the 
tendencies of the times are still onward, and for change — onward 
in the dissemination of the brilliant light of an evangelical gospel, 
and the redemption and elevation of man. How vain is the boast 
of nations that proclaim themselves unconquerable ! How idle the 
hyperbole of oriental compliment, "May the king live forever" — 
the fiction of modern legitimacy, '' The king never dies I" 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

A WALK WAKEFIELD — VALLEY OF THE CALDER — ROCHDALE 

queen's visit TO MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL — EATON 
HALL. 

A CLEAR day is a blessing to the pedestrian, and then a walk of 
a few miles can be enjoyed, even without company. By returning 
to Leeds and proceeding to Wakefield on foot, I attained an object 
and derived pleasure. The wind was rather high, but the way 
level and easy of travel, although it did not furnish much to 
write about. The country presented some quiet scenery, and con- 
siderable diversity of soil and natural products, but there was 
little worthy of note. The road-side inns prompted me to seek 
rest within them, and I yielded to their invitations. Shen- 
stone wrote in their praise, and although times and customs have 
changed since his day, I bear willing testimony to the kindness 
and attention of the landlords and domestics of these houses 
of entertainment, and can repeat with approval the lines of the 
bard : — 

"Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, 

Where'er his stages may have been, 
May sigh to think he still has found 

The warmest welcome at an inn!" 

Wakefield is a small manufacturing town on the Calder,a stream 
of contracted dimensions, and not deserving of the name of 



248 THE FOOTrATII AND HIGHWAY; 

river. The streets do not diifer much in appearance from those 
of the generality of English towns, and the principal objects of 
interest are an old church, the spire of which is the highest in 
the county, and a small chapel built at the side of a bridge, on a 
little island in the Calder, by order of Edward the Fourth, to 
commemorate the deeds of his father and several hundred followers, 
who fell in an engagement near the town. It is a small florid 
Gothic building, neat, airy, and clean ; and curious in consequence 
of its strange location. 

Scenery is all well enough to behold, but tedious from descrip- 
tion, no matter how varied. The valley of the Calder is romantic, 
abounds in villages, and is the seat of countless manufactories. I 
wandered through it for some miles, but as there was nothing 
particularly deserving attention, and incidents were few, I took to 
the rail and sped on past town and hamlet, over meadow and 
moorland, until the train halted at the black, smoky, dull, grimy 
birthplace of Tim Bobbin, Rochdale in Lancashire, a town of 
considerable magnitude, devoted to woollen and cotton manufac- 
ture. It is almost as filthy as Stockport, and gloomy as a coal-pit. 
I was either in a bad humor with everybody and everything; or 
it was, just at the time of my visit, suifering from long rains, 
clouds of smoke, and unusual quantities of mud, things calculated 
to spoil the beauty of any place. The manor was once the 
property of the Byron family, and was sold by the poet in his 
youth when he was pressed for funds, since which time it has 
been in the possession of the heirs of Mr. Derden, the purchaser. 
Neither manor, manufactory, nor Rochdale had power over me, 
and I pressed on to Manchester, where I arrived late in the eve- 
ning at a time of extraordinary excitement, bustle, and activity, 
being no less than the eve, I may say, of Her Britannic Majesty's 
visit to the Jacobinical borough. The streets were thronged 
with people of every grade and condition of life, and triumphal 
arches were in course of erection in various sections of the great 
cotton town. Barricades were built along the principal thorough- 
fares through which royalty was to pass, and stands v/ere con- 
structed at every available point for the purpose of affording those 
who were able and willing to pay for it a comfortable place ta 



249 

look at the queen, who, according to the published programmes, 
was to be exhibited to her delighted Manchester subjects, for the 
first time, in a day or two. Banners of every possible color were 
spread to the breeze, or rather rain, and transparencies of Victoria 
and Albert adorned the shop fronts of enthusiastic tradesmen, 
while British lions and coats of arms without number stared the 
gazer in the face at every turn. Thousands of pounds had been 
appropriated by the loyal authorities of the borough for decora- 
tions, and large bills announced to the populace that much abused 
Manchester was fully determined to give the sovereign of the realm 
such a reception as would prove to the kingdom how devoted were 
the patriotic inhabitants to the rights and person of their beloved 
queen. Streets were being dug up, and new gas-pipes being laid 
for illumination; and the fountains in the grounds of the infirm- 
ary were doing their best to throw a jet of water ten feet high. 
The next morning dawned in torrents of rain; but no shower 
could dampen the loyalty of the Manchester patriots, and with 
the first faint streaks of returning day, the click of the hammer 
was heard, and labor was busy in completing the preparations for 
the royal reception. I walked along several streets through 
which the procession was to pass, and everywhere there was 
evidence of the cupidity oT the people. At many places were 
enormous posters, on which were printed in large letters the advan- 
tages particular stands possessed over others for viewing her 
Majesty, for the sum of one shilling ! 

The people were " Queen mad," and her name was on every lip, I 
was told by a gentleman resident in the town that it was the first 
time in nearly three hundred years that a sovereign had visited, 
or made known a determination to visit, that borough, and the 
only reason he could assign for it was the radicalism of the in- 
habitants. " Our kings and queens of the last centuries," said 
he, " have been taught to believe us the most Jacobinical set in 
the country, and for that reason not one has condescended to 
smile upon us until now, when lo ! no sooner is the announce- 
ment of the intended visit made known than we are frantic with 
delight, and make every exertion to receive our sovereign in a 
style of elegance and pomp unparalleled in the nation's history. 



250 TOE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j 

We liave either been greatly belied heretofore, or are the greatest 
hypocrites known/' I inclined to the latter opinion, and told him 
so, and, as he entertained the same idea, we were of one way of 
thinking on that point. 

The order of reception made it incumbent upon every shop- 
keeper, merchant, and manufacturer to close his establishment for 
the day so as to afford all classes an opportunity of welcoming 
Victoria to the city of spindles. The poor were anxious to appear 
in their best, and have a jollification on the occasion; and as the 
most of them had not means to spare, they crowded the pawn- 
brokers' shops to pledge goods for funds. Watches, trinkets, 
and even bedclothes were placed in pawn to supply a few shil- 
lings for pocket-money, and the two hours the queen was in town 
cost more misery than it is possible to estimate. The barefooted, 
the ragged, and the hungry were evidently as loyal as the well- 
clothed and wealthy, and their delight at the approaching advent 
of their sovereign proved the fact. 

My stay was short ; and on the morning of the day on which 
Victoria was to visit Liverpool, I left Manchester by an early train 
for that city. The rain fell in torrents, but the ardor of the people 
was unchecked. On the line between the two places preparations 
"were in progress for the royal reception, and at the station near 
Worsley, at which place the queen was to be the guest of the 
Earl of EUesmere, there was a magnificent triumphal arch over 
the railway, and a covered avenue reaching down to the canal, a 
distance of about two hundred yards, the entire length of which 
was carpeted with red velvet, while the station was hung with 
festoons of flowers, and banners from the " haughty scroll of gold,'' 
or royal standard, to the more familiar blood-red cross of St. 
George. From the housetops, along the line of the rail, flags 
were flying, and mottoes and devices ornamented the dwellings of 
some of the more patriotic and enthusiastic. 

When T arrived at Liverpool, the rain was falling heavy and 
continuous. The streets were densely crowded with anxious hu- 
manity, and the houses presented as much scaffolding as those of 
Manchester. Barricades lined the streets, and thousands of police- 
men were stationed at convenient distances along the route to 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 251 

preserve order. Flags surged in the dull heavy breeze, and among 
the thousands hung along the line, I noticed several American, 
and one or two French. The concourse of spectators was com- 
posed of all classes, and the women faced the pelting storm with 
a determination to see " her Majesty" that was creditable to their 
loyal curiosity. All the stores were closed, all business suspended 
but that of the rumseller ; and the patriotic found it convenient 
to wet the inner man at the same time the storm drenched the 
outer one. Poor miserable barefooted wretches stood in the cold 
rain for hours awaiting the approach of the sovereign. When at 
last Victoria arrived at a particular stand near where I was sta- 
tioned, some of those on it cried out " Her Majesty nods — Her Ma- 
jesty approves I" and the whole assemblage appeared to have lost 
their senses, and what little independence they once possessed. I 
positively believe they would have gone down on their knees to the 
queen had she requested them to do so, or even intimated a wish 
to that effect. Fortunately for the British nation, Victoria is a 
plain, sensible woman, and neither a tyrant nor lover of show, or 
affairs might be different from what they are. She exhibited an 
evident detestation of the fawning sycophancy to which she was 
an unwilling witness, and her countenance revealed her feelings. 
Public receptions are disliked by her, and she is well tired out of 
being conducted about the country and shown to her subjects by 
the fat aldermen of certain towns, or a designing few who seek 
popularity by publicly feasting her. 

After the procession passed, the streets presented a scene of 
excitement and hilarity at once wild and bacchanalian. Patriot- 
ism gushed out in songs and cheers, and each of the drenched spec- 
tators of the queen's etitree into Liverpool was a sovereign in his 
own estimation, happy in the enjoyments of the day. Tired of 
the place, I departed for the old city of Chester, where I spent 
several days in quiet and to advantage. While resident in it, I 
visited " Eaton Hall,'' the princely mansion of the Marquis of 
Westminster, distant about three miles, in a romantic part of the 
country, on the banks of the Dee. My walk was full that extent 
through the grounds of the estate after passing the lodge-gate, a 
massive Gothic arch of exquisite design and V70rkmanship, in 



252 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

which the lodgekeeper and family reside. The parks are in a 
comparatively uncultivated state, there being considerable under- 
wood and more wildness than usual in such grounds. Numerous 
alterations were being made in the drives and hall, which is built 
in the pointed Gothic style, and turreted most beautifully. Large 
additions had recently been made to it, and when the alteration 
it is undergoing shall have been completed, it will exceed, in 
magnificence, any one of the royal palaces in the realm. The re- 
ception-room was shown me, and, as it was just from the artist's 
hand, it had an appearance truly gorgeous; and with its rich tracery 
and harmonious coloring, bright gilding, and Alhambrian scenery, 
presented the reality of what our imaginations lead us to suppose 
the interior of an ancient Moorish palace to have been. And to 
give greater effect to the noble edifice, a fine terrace stretches 
away in front, laid out in walks and beds of flowers ; and adorned 
with statuary and vases, the whole of which is surrounded by a 
beautiful stone palisading, from which extends a lawn to the Kiver 
Dee. The jagged and imposing ruins of Beeston Castle, with the 
bold form of the Welsh hills, constitute the distant horizon line, 
while the intervening space between them and the stream is a 
rich landscape, interspersed with farms and cottages, and thickly 
clustered with massy oaks and other noble trees. The owner of 
the palace occupies it but rarely ; and with all its magnificence 
and extent, its wealth and costly keeping, it is only one of the 
many seats of its possessor. Next to Cbatsworth, it may justly 
be considered the noblest edifice of its kind in the kingdom, and, 
without exception, the most superb modern Gothic structure for 
purely private use in England, or, perhaps, Europe. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 253 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

WALES — WALK TO MOLD AND ST. ASAPH — AN INCIDENT AT AN 

INN — BANGOR TUBULAR BRIDGE SUSPENSION-BRIDGE — THE 

WELSH NATIONALITIES. 

Wales is a portion of tlie dominions of Her Britannic Majesty 
mainly visited in the summer season by the denizens of England 
for the purpose of enjoying the mountain air and scenery, and 
passing a few weeks in relaxation from the cares of business or 
the dissipations of fashionable life. Beaten routes are followed, 
and certain places visited, and the tourist returns with a pocket 
considerably lightened, and a vivid recollection of cloud-capped 
hills, rugged and sterile mountain sides, lowly valleys, and peasant 
women, who wear the hats of the sterner sex, and the rough 
coarse boots of country clowns. But few see the people in their 
dwellings, or examine into their mode of life, and none come 
home with a very favorable impression of Wales upon their 
minds. The language of the natives is a sealed book to the 
Englishman, and as there evidently exists a mutual detestation of 
each other between the present representatives of Edward the 
First, and the descendants of the Cambrian bards, there is but 
little intercourse between the two classes, and no sympathy in 
common. The visitor roams the land for pleasure and relaxation 
— the native entertains him for his money, and so far only do 
they render each other what may be called a mutual benefit. 

I set out from Chester to Mold, a town of considerable size 
in Flintshire, but saw so little to interest between the two places 
as scarcely to deserve notice. The farms differ greatly from those 
of England ; the hedges were poor and thriftless, the land stony 
and of light soil, the houses small and mean ; some of them 
being but little better than the thatched cottages of the Irish 
peasantry. The town of Mold cannot be said to be a place of 
22 



254 THE rOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

consequence, and beyond its old cburcli there are no buildings of 
note. The sacred pile is situate on a bill, and tbe space around de- 
voted to burial purposes is large, and gives ample scope for viewing 
tbe edifice, wbicb is one possessing several peculiarities not often 
seen in village cburcbes. Tbe tower is bigb and imposing, nnd 
tbere are battlements around tbe main portion of tbe building, 
and a curiously ornamented frieze under tbe cornices on wbicb are 
sculptured figures of nearly every species of animals, from tbe 
stately lion and ponderous elephant to the agile monkey and 
slothful bear. Tbe streets are paved oddly enough, the usual 
order of things being reversed, for the sidewalks are laid with 
rough rounded pebbles, while the carriage-ways are smooth and 
easy of travel. Tbe surrounding country is hilly, and not much 
adapted for farming purposes. Tbe turnpikes between Mold 
and Denbigh are good ; but as they wind through valleys tbere is 
not much to be seen beyond tbe sides of tbe bills, and tbe white- 
washed cottages of the peasantry, and not many of the latter. 
I walked nearly twenty miles to St. Asaph, but saw little on tbe 
entire route of interest, except tbe stupid rustics whom I met, 
and they were almost as dull and ignorant as tbe donkeys they 
drove. Nearly along-side of Mold, on a bigb point of a range 
of bills, stands an obelisk of considerable altitude, with the his- 
tory of wbicb I supposed every person in the vicinity was fa- 
miliar, but found myself greatly mistaken, when I made inquiry 
of those I met. Not one, out of twelve or more to whom I 
spoke, could tell what it was, and I began to think that it would 
be useless to make any further exertions to learn, when an old 
man, who was breaking stone on tbe road-side, told me all be knew 
about it. 

He was a grayhaired veteran, quite sociable and friendly, and 
appeared to take pleasure in being able to inform me what the 
pile was erected for, and its name. " It was built,^' said he, 
^' when George the Third was king, to commemorate the fiftieth 
year of that sovereign's reign, and is a landmark to mariners, as 
well as an object of curiosity to travellers, and is called tbe Moel 
Famma.'' As I passed on, tbe lofty ruins of Denbigh Castle 
became visible, and their bald and jagged outlines were clearly 



OB, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 255 

defined by the bright rays of the declining sun. The hmdscape 
grew more lovely, and the farms began to look well. By turning 
into a by-road, my course to St. Asaph was much shortened, and 
made easier of travel, for the scenery was fine, and in the absence 
of a companion, the main object of interest to the pedestrian is 
the landscape, and the more lovely it is, the more cheerful is the 
road. When within a few miles of the last-named town, I en- 
countered several huntsmen with a pack of hounds, in all about 
sixty. The men were mounted upon swift-looking steeds, and 
each one wore a red coat and buckskin short-clothes, and carried 
a horn at his side. They were going to a rendezvous in the in- 
terior of the country, in the vicinity of which fox-hunts annually 
take place in the autumn. Both the dogs and the men trotted 
along with an easy, careless motion, as if they were made for no 
other purposes than self-indulgence and enjoyment. 

St, Asaph is one of the cleanest of the Welsh towns, and, 
although small and secluded, it is both pretty and important in 
some respects, inasmuch as it is the seat of a bishopric, and con- 
tains a cathedral and episcopal palace. The Clwyd and Elwy, 
two inconsiderable streams, flow near it, and in the vicinity are 
coal-pits and furnaces; but the town fortunately does not receive 
the benefit of the black smoke of the manufactories and mines. 
While at the place, I inquired of a young female the name of the 
river which is nearest the town, and as we were both standing on 
a bridge which spans the stream, I naturally enough supposed 
she would be able to tell me; but not she; her knowledge did not 
extend so far, and after looking at me for a while, apparently sur- 
prised that a person should ask such a question, she replied that 
she did not know any other name for it than the river j that being 
the only one she ever heard. Such instances of ignorance among 
the people are frequent, and it seldom happens that persons of 
even mature years among the laboring classes are able to impart 
the slightest information to strangers respecting the country around 
them, and the very places in which they were born. The Welsh 
in this particular resemble their English neighbors, and do not 
appear to consider it of consequence whether they inform them- 



256 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

selves respecting local affairs or not, and transactions and events 
at a distance are altogether unknown to them. 

• The cathedral of St. Asaph is small but neat, and in the usual 
cruciform shape of minsters and sacred colleges. The east win- 
dow is elegantly adorned with some modern stained glass, and the 
choir is richly decorated and profusely ornamented, while the aisles 
of the nave contain some fine monuments and excellent statuary 
in white marble. The building is on a hill, and there is a large 
open space around it which adds to its appearance, and exhibits 
its proportions to the best advantage. 

Tired of a twenty miles' walk, I made my way to an inn, and 
was politely ushered into a pleasant little parlor where a blue-eyed 
servant-girl awaited my orders. I sat down by the fire while she 
prepared the table for my repast, and it was a welcome treat to 
meet with such a cheerful and vivacious girl. People may abuse 
the domestic females of English hotels, but they do not deserve 
the many ill things that are said of them, and it is from them alone 
that the weary traveller receives the kindest treatment when he 
enters an inn. Your every want is anticipated, and their modesty 
and gentle behavior make them angels of welcome to the lonely 
and toil-worn wanderer. The little sprightly Welsh lass was not 
an exception to the class to which she belongs, and herunassumed 
kindness and assiduity were consoling and well-timed. She soon 
spread the clean white cloth and prepared the cheerful meal. I 
paid her some compliments, but she warded off the flattery with" 
adroitness, and kept up a strain of entertaining humor that made 
her company agreeable. ''Evil be to him who evil thinketh," is 
the motto of the Knight of the Garter, and it is only the evil in 
heart who will entertain opinions derogatory to the ministering 
angels of the village or way-side hostelrie. How pleasant, how 
polite, how attentive and friendly they are ! 

"Will you make the tea, sir," said my little maiden, with one 
of the sweetest voices in the world, " or shall I ?" 

" Why you, by all means, for all I can do is to drink it;" and she 
asked again, '' Will you have it all black, or shall it be mixed ?" 
'' Mixed, if you please;" and she took each canister alternately in 
her taper fingers, and poured out as much as she thought would 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 257 

be sufficient; at the same time asking me to saj whether the quan- 
tity was too great or too little. It was soon arranged, and the boil- 
ing water poured upon it, and when the tea was drawn, she filled 
my cup, while I sat watching her pretty face, and in the contem- 
plation of it forgot my meal. 

She pretended not to notice my rudeness, but said, in a half 
persuasive, half rebuking tone^ "Are you unwell, sir? or do you 
think the tea too strong?'^ 

*'It's not the tea/' said I, "that's too strong, nor am I ill, but, 
but—" 

"But what, sir V she inquired, with a look of perplexity, hardly 
knowing how to finish the sentence. 

"I was thinking that the tea would taste better, if you were 
to take that chair and favor me with your company/' said I, rising, 
and waving her to-a seat at the side of the table, in doing which 
I awkwardly enough upset the Chinese beverage over the cloth, 
and cut a jidiculous -figure in the bargain. 

"Never mind," said she, with the most provoking coolness 
possible. "I'll put another one on the table; it won't take me 
long;" and she commenced removing the articles to an adjoining 
sideboard. I interposed, and laid my hand softly on her arm to 
induce her to desist, and assured her that the mishap did not dis- 
turb me, and hoped there was no harm done. 

" 0, not the least, if you are not annoyed by the accident;" but 
the provoking little fairy paid no attention to my invitation, and, 
after reflection, I came to the conclusion that it would look oddly 
enough if the landlord should happen to come in and interrupt 
our social meal. 

She filled my cup again, and being satisfied that I could 
make myself comfortable, she went to the door, and as she was 
going out said, " If you want anything else, sir, please ring the 
bell, and I will immediately wait upon you ;" and with a face all 
smiles, and a sly look at the stained cloth, she vanished. 

" Confound thee, pretty maiden," mused I, as, with eyes fixed 
upon the door through which she had disappeared, I fell into a 
train of thought, instead of eating my food, " you have destroyed 
my appetite, caused me to upset my tea, been indifferent to my 

90^ 



258 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

invitation to dine, and now go away laughing at my mishap ; but 
never mind, you are a pretty girl, and that fact is a consolation 
even if you were not so agreeable and friendly." 

I finished the meal and rang the bell, at the sound of which 
she tripped lightly into the room, and stood looking at me quietly, 
until I asked her to remove the cloth and bring my bill. She 
soon performed her task, and then I put a shilling in her hand, 
and requested her to secure me a seat on the stage to Khyl, along- 
side the driver. She looked at me, and asked whether the money 
was to pay the fare. '^ 0, no, that's for you;" and, as I still had 
her hand in mine, I felt the warm blood in it as it gushed from 
her heart, and knew that the blush that sent it so wildly to the 
extremities was one of modesty and sinless innocence. ^' Go," 
said I, " secure the seat, while I prepare for the journey." The 
stage was ready ] she came to the door, and as I mounted to my 
elevated station, she nodded good-by, and bade me the sweetest 
possible adieu ! 

The day was fast merging into night as the coach whirled out of 
the old town of St. Asaph, and the cool breeze of an autumnal 
evening made a warm overcoat comfortable. 

Our company was like my tea, mixed, and some of them con- 
versed in the Welsh language, while the uninitiated quietly listened 
to the strange tongue. Hedges and groves of trees flew past, and 
as the miles fled by, the company became sociable, and such as 
could speak English kept up a conversation which lasted during 
the journey. We passed the ancient and strongly built castle of 
Pthuddlyn, near the village of that name, on the east bank of the 
Clwyd, one of those fortresses which Edward the First built to 
keep his unwilling Welsh subjects in awe. The main portion is 
in tolerable preservation, and the bold, tall towers at the angles 
look as formidable as they must have done when the troops of 
the conqueror of Wales found shelter and protection within them. 
We entered the town in the haze of evening, and were shown the 
house in which Edward held his parliaments during his residence 
in the principality; but neither the village nor the particular 
building alluded to impressed us favorably with the cleanliness of 
the place, for any quantity of dirt was visible, and none of the 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 259 

Louses appeared fit for a white man to live in. We pursued our 
course to Rbjl, a modern town on the sea-coast, mainly important 
as a resort during the summer for sea-bathers and fashionable 
idlers. I rested in it all night, and proceeded by rail in the 
morning to Conway, a town within fifteen miles of Bangor, and 
famous at the present time for its tubular and suspension-bridges, 
and the remains of its castle and walls erected in the days of 
Edward the First, and I may add with propriety its squalid and 
filthy appearance. The city walls are in ruins, but the immense 
towers which rise from them, and the gateways are in tolerable 
preservation. The castle stands on a rock washed by the river, 
and^ the two bridges cross the stream immediately at its side. 
The twenty-four massive towers of the walls remain almost entire, 
and they, with those of the strongly-built castle, give the town, 
when seen from a distance, the aspect of a strongly fortified and 
picturesque city ; but a nearer acquaintance with the place dispels 
the romantic, and the visitor is glad to get away from one of the 
dirtiest, muddiest, and most wretched-looking collections of miser- 
able houses in Wales. The inhabitants appear to be engaged in 
fishing and coasting, and their aspect is one of wretchedness and 
indifference to personal cleanliness. The adjacent land is hilly, 
stony, and rather unproductive ; and as the people are not remark- 
able for thrift and industry, there is not that amount of labor 
bestowed upon the cultivation of indifferent soil that one sees in 
England. 

Bangor, although an old city, is indebted for its increase and 
present importance more to the modern than the ancient day. 
Perched in between the high eastern bank of the Menai Straits, 
and a range of hills which run seaward from the Cambrian Alps, 
it rests as quietly in the secluded valley as if it were out of the 
Avorld of Clreat Britain. The streets are narrow and crooked, and 
the side-walks are paved with rounded pebbles, which make it 
next to impossible for the pedestrian to perambulate its avenues 
without pain to his feet, particularly if he is blessed with those 
fashionable modern appendages — corns. The cathedral is a large 
cruciform building, externally much decayed, but, like all Gothic 



260 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

edifices of the olden time, a structure possessing many beauties, 
for age improves as well as decays those hallowed shrines. 

Slate abounds in the vicinity of Bangor, and even the tomb- 
stones in the burial-ground are made of it. In looking at the 
inscriptions in the graveyards, I noticed some peculiarities not 
observed elsewhere, which may, with propriety, be considered 
Welsh. Nearly every other tomb was inscribed Jones, and as 
there were many Johns among them, the surviving relatives had 
taken the precaution to place the occupation of the defunct on his 
gravestone, and one of them informs the reader that the wife of 
the deceased continues the business at the old stand. Jones is not 
only in the majority in burial-places, but throughout the country, 
and at least one-third of the inhabitants bear that name, the other 
being divided between Williams, Davies, Evans, and Griffith. 
The Joneses are seldom related, and on the stage-coach from Rhyl 
to St. Asaph, nearly all the outside Welsh passengers bore that 
name, and yet none of them had ever seen each other before; nor 
was that the only occasion on which the greater part of those 
with whom I was thrown into contact, while in the country, were 
of the name, and I am safe in saying that Jones is so common in 
Wales that it is no name at all — although borne by some very 
deserving people. 

The shops of Bangor are showy, and many of them contain all 
the luxuries to be obtained in similar London establishments, and 
as the town is a fashionable summer resort for those who are fond 
of sport and fine scenery, the tradesman seldom fails to dispose of 
his stock. 

Penrhyn Castle, one of the noblest of its kind in the princi- 
pality, is near the town, and the famous Menai Suspension and 
Britannia Tubular Bridges are distant only a few miles. On a 
pleasant afternoon, when the sun was a few hours high, I took a 
walk to these celebrated works and along the shores of the world- 
renowned straits. Persons at a distance, who are not acquainted 
with the national pencliant of the English for exaggeration, both 
as writers and artists, are led to believe, from the drawings and 
engravings common of the suspension-bridge, that the renowned 
straits are a good-sized arm of the sea, and deep enough to allow 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 261 

heavy vessels to pass through the channel with ease. The artist, 
to give effect to his sketch and importance to the place, intro- 
duces vessels into the picture, which are represented as large 
ships sailing under the bridges; when the truth is that the water 
is not more than nine hundred feet wide at the point where the 
suspension-bridge spans it, and so shallow as to be extremely 
difficult of navigation by vessels of from two hundred and fifty to 
four hundred tons, even at favorable tides, and dangerous when 
the waters are out. Shoals and sandbars are numerous, and bare 
at low water, and the few steamships which navigate the straits 
seldoin go more than a few miles south of the tubular bridge, 
and not often beyond Caernarvon, a town only seven miles distant 
by water. The bridge is unquestionably a triumph of engineer- 
ing skill, and the tubular span is justly regarded the wonder of 
the nineteenth century. The suspension structure is a noble 
erection, but not so immense as Americans generally suppose. 
The entire length of the chains, and they extend several hundred 
feet beyond the river banks on cither side, is 1714 feet, which, it 
will be observed, is less than one-third of a mile. The height of 
the road-way from the high water line is 100 feet, which is an 
altitude sufficiently great to allow, without hindrance, the passage 
under of the largest class of vessels that navigate the straits. I 
do not wish to detract from the structure any merit or importance 
it may possess; but it is no more than right that the spirit of 
exaggeration, so prevalent in England respecting great national 
works, should be rebuked, and my humble efforts shall be exerted 
to that end, whether successfully or not. The banks of the straits 
are bold and high, and as the water is wider than any of the 
rivers of Britain, excepting only those of the Thames and Severn 
in certain places, there is some excuse for a cockney going into 
ecstasies on viewing the straits for the first time, but surely none 
for the artist or author who purposely magnifies the truth when 
attempting, in his own particular way, to describe the place. The 
bridge is kept in admirable condition, and men are almost con- 
stantly engaged in repairing and painting it. The iron work is 
kept from rusting, the road-way clean, and the grx3atest care taken 
with the structure. The payment of a single penny entitles the 



262 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

payer to the privilege of crossing as often as be feels inclined 
during the day, and forty times the amount would be judiciously 
expended by the traveller, were the charge that much, for the 
gratification he derives from walking over and examining the 
structure, or in viewing from it the splendid scenery on both 
sides of the strait, and the bold, cloud-capped hills of Caernarvon- 
shire. I crossed the stream, and walked down to the tubular 
bridge on the Anglesea side along the Holyhead turnpike, which 
runs parallel to the straits, and affords numerous fine views of the 
mountains on the opposite side. The black and frowning high- 
lands contrasted strongly with the white mists and clouds which 
veiled their summits, and the distant peak of the far-famed Snow- 
den rose like a stately giant in the background, as the rays of the 
evening sun revealed its lofty front. The immense tube of the 
Britannia Bridge passed over the stream to the south of me like 
the body of a huge serpent, while northward the aerial form of 
the delicate suspension structure looked like a fairy fabric, and the 
carriages and pedestrians crossing it appeared as though suspended 
upon gossamer woofs, and travelling upon the '^ baseless fabric of 
a vision," betwixt earth and heaven. 

The bridge can only be accurately described by an experienced 
engineer, who thoroughly understands the principles upon which 
the enormous structure is constructed and sustained. The tubes 
at the bottom and top are the main support of the stupendous 
mass, and the simplicity of construction is wonderful. The tall 
towers, which rise from the water between the abutments on either 
shore, are considerably higher than the abutments themselves, 
being full thirty feet above the body of the bridge. The main, 
or Britannia tower, in the centre of the structure, is 199 feet 8 
inches over the high-water mark ; and the total height, from the 
foundation, is 221 feet 8 inches. The straits are about eleven 
hundred feet wide at the place where the tube crosses, and con- 
siderably wider than at the suspension-bridge, which is nearly a 
mile farther north. The abutments, at each end, are terminated 
by four colossal lions, which are placed one on each pedestal, 
erected for the purpose, at the sides of either extremity of the 
bridge, and they are attractive features of the structure, and re- 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 263 

markably well executed in the Egyptian style of sculpture. They 
are colossal, in every sense of the term, and, although conchant, 
measure 25 feet in length by 12 feet some inches in height, and 
the breadth of each paw is 2 feet 4 inches — dimensions suiiiciently 
great to convey some idea of the magnitude of each. I was al- 
lowed to walk through the tube, a privilege granted strangers by 
the company, who provide a guide expressly to conduct visitors 
through, and describe the peculiarities of the bridge. The tubes 
are composed entirely of iron plates securely fastened with bolts, 
and angular pieces of the same material above and below. The 
great weight is mainly sustained by the most important part of 
the structure, and exhibit extraordinary thought in the design, and 
care in the workmanship, every portion of which is executed in 
the best possible manner. The trains pass through it at a much 
greater speed than one not acquainted with it would consider safe, 
but never exceed the rate of a given number of miles per hour, 
each engineer being under positive instructions to shut off the 
steam when approaching the tubes from either end. It is re- 
markable how little noise is made by the crossing trains, there 
being not more than would arise from a heavy carriage being 
drawn, at a moderate speed, through one of the covered viaducts 
so common in the United States. Two guards are constantly kept 
on duty, night and day, for the purpose of preventing people pass- 
ing without a conductor, and guarding against accidents of every 
description. Men are employed to keep the structure in order 
and the tubes clean, and every precaution is taken to prevent 
damage to the bridge or injury to the passengers and trains. 

The first view of the enormous edifice does not create a feeling 
of surprise in the mind of the beholder; but a close examination 
of its peculiarities, and a familiarity with its proportions, extort 
admiration, and cause the observer to stand in wonder before it. 
It is somewhat like Niagara Falls at first sight — creates a feeling 
akin to disappointment, which soon, however, gives way to the 
opposites of wonder and astonishment. The country around is 
rocky and hilly, and presents some grand natural scenery, as well 
as artificial objects. On a high point, near the western end of the 
tube, stands a column, erected by the citizens of the counties on 



264 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

either side of the straits to commemorate the services of the iMar- 
quis of Anglesea, in the campaigns of the peninsula and the hun- 
dred daj^s' reign. It is conspicuous in the landscape, and rears 
its bold Doric front in solitary majesty to the skies; but it is 
doubtful whether the man it was erected to honor possesses, to 
this day, the confidence and esteem of his countrymen as entirely 
as he did when it was built, for much is said against him by the 
inhabitants in consequence of his being a non-resident of the dis- 
trict, and squandering his income in the fashionable follies of Lon- 
don, instead of spending some of it among his tenantry, from 
whom it is chiefly derived. 

On my return to Bangor, I met with a gentleman whose frank- 
ness and sociability struck me as not characteristic of an English- 
man; and, as he spoke the language of the country in its purity, 
both as regards pronunciation and grammatical arrangement, I 
was at a loss to satisfy myself where he was from. He was evi- 
dently not Welsh, and, as he told me that he was a stranger in 
the land, I was in a quandary, for some time, to know where to 
place him. We walked along for one or two miles in agreeable 
conversation, and, although I paid particular attention to his ac- 
cent, there was no brogue on his tongue. He icas not English, 
nor Welsh; and I thought he exhibited more of the refined and 
educated Scotchman than the enlightened and polished Irishman, 
one or the other of which I felt confident he was, after an hour's 
acquaintance. We arrived at the railway station, when I learned 
that he was going on to Dublin, and that he was a native and 
resident of Wicklow, and would be extremely happy to have me 
visit him, if I should ever come to Ireland. I exchanged ad- 
dresses with him, and parted, highly pleased with his gentlemanly 
behavior and social qualities, and could not help contrasting, in my 
mind, the friendly disposition exhibited by him with the reserve of 
the English, generally, who seldom give a stranger a kind look, 
and appear to regard all foreigners with distrust, unless they come 
with a patent of nobility, or are introduced with the formalities 
of modern society. 

The Straits of the Menai are spoken of by different authors, 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 265 

under various names; and it is to them that Gray alludes^ in his 
poem of the "Bard/^ when he says, 

<'0n dreary Arvoa's shore tlicy lie, 
Smeared -with gore and ghastly pale ;" 

and the British bards make frequent allusion to them in their 
compositions under other names. It was near the site of the pre- 
sent Britannia Bridge that a Boman army crossed the straits under 
Suetonius Paulinius, about the sixtieth year of the Christian era, 
when^ he attacked, and nearly destroyed the British Druids in 
Anglesea. The inhabitants of the country are almost as ancient 
in appearance as their native hills, and their absurd adherence to 
the customs and language of their ancestors creates a smile on the 
countenance of the stranger, if nothing more. Here is a race of 
people occupying a sterile, barren, mountainous tract of country 
within two hundred miles of London, the capital of the civilized 
world, and they appear to be blindly determined to oppose progress, 
and stupidly continue in the ways of their forefathers. Their 
language is as odd as their costume, and they have such a hearty 
national hatred of their Saxon neighbors that they will not even 
speak English, and live as completely isolated from the inhabitants 
of the other sections of the island as if they were dwellers in the 
remote recesses of the valleys of Thibet. In my rambles, I met 
with many who could not speak a single word of English, and 
those who did were generally illiterate and almost ill-mannered. 
The peasant women wear " shocking bad hats" of the steeple or 
sugar-loaf pattern, and with half a dozen ruffles at each side of the 
face, they look the most perfect frights in the world in human 
shape. The men do not appear to have a high regard for female 
character, and many of the women are no better than domestic 
slaves, and it is a frequent occurrence to see old and young fe- 
males wearing coarse, heavy shoes, the soles of which are filled 
with large nails, and dressed otherwise in the costume of the 
country, wheeling barrows along the highway, and even driving 
sheep and cattle. The figure the women cut when mounted on a 
shuffling nag, and dressed in the Welsh style, with a broad-brimmed 
black fur or silk hat on the top of the head, is ridiculous in the 
23 



266 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

extreme, and no stranger comes out of tlie country after seeing 
such pictures with a partiality for the native costume. Not only 
are the language and style of dress considered sacred and preserved 
as national jewels, but they celebrate the "Eisteddfod" (pro- 
nounced Estethvod) or "Sittings of the Bards/' every three 
years, at some particular place in the principality, and award pre- 
miums to those who produce, at such triennial exhibitions, the best 
articles of domestic comfort and personal wear, such as cloths, 
stockings, hats, etc., manufactured entirely from Welsh materials; 
and confer honors and medals upon those poets who produce the two 
best poems in the Welsh language upon purely national subjects. 
Their dwellings are indifferent, and not much calculated for com- 
fort ; their habits neither pleasant nor agreeable ; and, as they 
have no partiality for things English, they entertain a holy hatred 
for the Established or Episcopal Church, and seldom go within its 
walls. Some of them nurture the idea that Wales will, at some 
future day, regain her ancient independence, and shut their eyes 
to every species of rational advancement, being content to live as 
their fathers lived, and die in the faith and opinions of their an- 
cestors. Such are some of the characteristics of the Welsh people 
at the present day — a people inhabiting a land, the extent of which 
is not so great as many of the counties in the American States, 
and about as productive as the iron sides of the Alleghanies of 
Western Virginia. The railways in the north and south have 
contributed somewhat towards bringing the people more in contact 
with the world from which they are now estranged ; but as they 
traverse only the remote boundaries of the principality, and do 
not penetrate to the interior, there is but little prospect at present 
of the Welsh following in the progressive spirit of the age, and 
every reason to believe that they will continue for a century to 
come, as they now are, full a hundred years behind the times. I 
speak of the people at large, the peasantry and masses; and as 
they are the nation, and blindly adhere to old customs and usages, 
there is but little hope for their present regeneration. That some 
individuals among them possess well cultivated minds and enter- 
tain liberal sentiments, cannot be denied, but they are few. If 
mankind are to be taught advancement by the Welsh people^ they 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 267 

will have to wait a long while, and tyranny will have grown cun- 
ning, and made rapid advances at crushing the spirit of freedom, 
with his iron and villanous power, ere they will enter the lists in 
favor of human rights and human progress. 

I visited other sections of the northern part of the principality, 
besides those mentioned, and walked from Bangor to Caernarvon 
along the shores of the "dreary Arvon," for the purpose of view- 
ing the scenery of the famous Straits and rugged aspect of the 
adjacent country. Tameness is certainly no feature of the land- 
scape,^and the clouds, which float over the hills and envelop the 
mountain tops, are not sparing to the land of their crystal con- 
tents, as I had abundant proof during my walk. Caernarvon is a 
mean-looking place on the eastern shores of the Straits at a point 
where they expand to the distance of two miles, and is re- 
nowned for its castle, built by Edward the First ; the walls and 
towers of which are in good preservation, considering the many 
years they have been standing. The room in which Edward the 
Second was born is shown to visitors, and the guide, like most 
exhibitors of old castles, points out numerous other objects about 
the place unknown to history, and only known to himself. From 
Caernarvon I originally intended to proceed inland to Llanberis, 
and thence on to Llangollen; but the weather was wet, expenses 
heavy, and the country losing its robes of green. The driver of 
a " Fly," a species of jaunting car, had the excessive modesty to 
ask me fourteen shillings, or nearly three dollars and fifty cents, to 
take me eight miles, and when I declined his generous offer, and 
told him I would sooner walk the distance than pay so exorbitant 
a sum, he politely hinted that I would run a risk of robbery, if I 
attempted it. I told him I had my doubts about that, but none 
as to his robbing me, if I should be fool enough to pay him 
the sum he demanded for the service required. Seeing no chance 
of getting on immediately with comfort, I availed myself of a 
conveyance back to Bangor, and returned from thence to the 
western part of England, very well satisfied with the north of 
Wales. 



268 



CHAPTEK XXVIII. 

A WEDDING-PARTY SHREWSBURY — MARKET-DAY — BATTLE- 
FIELD CnURCH. 

A CONSTANT change of residence is sure to bring with it a suc- 
cession of scenery and incidents, and whether' walking, or travel- 
ling in more easy and rapid way, the tourist always finds something 
to attract his attention, and afford him instruction or amusement. 
On my route to Shrewsbury by rail, I passed through a romantic 
and beautiful part of country, and had a distant glimpse of the 
far-famed Yale of Llangollen, and the interesting and well-culti- 
vated lands around Raubon, as, also, a good view of the town of 
Wrexham and its noble old church, one of the largest and most ela- 
borately finished of the many Gothic shrines of England. When 
we arrived at the station, it was decorated with wreaths of flowers, 
chaplets of evergreens, and waving flags; while along the road 
and on the platforms were groups of village maidens and rustic 
swains, arrayed in their best, some of the men looking as prim as 
pikestaves, and taking delight in flourishing immense nosegays in 
the button-hole of the left breast of the coat. The girls looked 
rosy and cheerful, and each wore a smile of bashful modesty on 
her countenance as if expecting an agreeable event soon to trans- 
pire, of which they chatted and jested as young females will when 
one more favored than themselves is about to be led to the altar 
of Hymen. The bells of the church rang wildly and cheerily 
out, and kept up a glorious sound of joy with their iron tongues, 
which sounded to my ear like the harmonious commingling of the 
voices of a host of happy girls, whose hearts are all gladness, and 
whose souls are all peace. 

*' What now ?" was the inquiry of more than one of my fellow- 
passengers. "What is all this about?" 

"Do you not know?" interrogated a lady at my side. 



269 

^' Not I, indeed.'' 

^' Then you are unusually stupid, if you cannot see that this is 
a wedding-party waiting to escort the happy couple to the church." 

I acknowledged my want of discernment, and received a look 
of scorn from the fair one, who appeared to consider me a hope- 
less bachelor, and singularly deficient in experience respecting 
weddings; and when told that this was the only one of the kind 
I had ever noticed, she thought it quite time for me to learn some- 
thing of the ceremony, and advised me to alight and witness the 
one about to take place. 

^' Your education must have been sadly neglected," said she; 
^' or, what I suspect to be nearer the truth, you are no great ad- 
mirer of the ladies." 

I told her she did me injustice, and assured her that I was half 
inclined to fall in love with herself, but was doubtful how my suit 
would be received. 

" 0, sir, you need not have any misgivings as to that, as I am 
married already; and if I were not, it would make no difference, 
for you never would be my choice." 

I looked from the window at the rustic maidens until the train 
started, and not inside again until the carriage arrived at Shrews- 
bury. 

The famous county town of Salopshire (or, as it is commonly 
called, Shropshire) is one of the few places rarely visited by 
strangers, because of its remoteness from the regular line of tra- 
vel, and not being connected with any of the more southern towns 
by rail. The Severn flows around three parts of the town, find the 
city may be said to occupy a plot of ground in shape like the centre 
of the Roman capital letter C, the river nearly encircling it. It is 
on two hills, and the streets are generally narrow and steep, with 
side-walks of pebbles like those of the Welsh towns. It contains 
but few buildings worthy of note, the churches being both old and 
ungainly, and the castle much shattered. Many of the dwell- 
ings are built with the gable to the street, and as most of them 
have bay windows, there is an air of antiquity about the town 
quite pleasing. 

Two fine bridges span the Severn^ one leading toward Wales, 

23* 



270 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

the other into England, for Shrewsbury is a kind of neutral town 
between the two countries. The river is rapid and clear, and the 
place much cleaner than manufacturing towns. I noticed there 
what frequently attracted my observation in English villages — a 
fine promenade for the recreation of the inhabitants. It extends 
along the Severn for more than a mile, and is planted on both 
sides, for a considerable distance, with rows of tall lime-trees, 
whose branches unite at the top and form a continuous arcade? 
thus affording a shaded walk of great beauty along the shore of 
one of the cleanest and swiftest of the English rivers. 

It was market-day when I entered the jincient place, and 
the streets were thronged with country people, who ranged 
themselves along certain thoroughfores, and exposed their goods 
on the side-walks, or in the streets, a short distance from 
the curb, while the purchasers literally jammed up the remain- 
ing portion of the street. Ballad-singers were doling out the 
misfortunes of forlorn lovers, and here and there were to be 
seen men with oily tongues praising, in extravagant language, 
the merits of the articles they had for sale. The rustics were 
dressed in coarse clothing, and the men wore the smock-frock and 
shoes similar to those worn by the farm-laborers in Yorkshire and 
other counties of the realm. The women were in ^character, both 
as regards dress and personal appearance, and their pattens 
clanked on the pavement as noisily as the heavy shoes of the 
sterner sex. Piles of produce were ranged for sale, and here sat 
an old w^oman with butter and eggs; along-side her was a quantity 
of apples; a little further on, potatoes, turnips, and cabbages; 
while opposite arose a hill of yellow cheese. Some had cloth to 
dispose of; others, homemade stockings and mits; and thus along 
th' entire ..space was exposed, in baskets and tubs, on tables and 
*^ands, the produce of the farm and workshop. Wagons were 
nub permitted to pass through the crowd; but lazy rascals occa- 
sionally rode in on a cart drawn by a half-starved donkey, or poor, 
spiritless dog, those animals being used as beasts of burthen by 
the poor. 

Shrewsbury is famous in English history for the many fights 
which have taken place near it, and remarkable, in a literary 
pointy for being the town in which the witty but immoral George 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 271 

Farquliar wrote his corned j', the " Recruiting Officer/' while serving 
in that capacity in it. The room in the Raven Inn, where he 
composed it, is still shown to the curious. I observed that the 
trade of the recruiting officer was still important in Shrewsbury, 
and that bills were posted up at the corners, calling upon the 
" heroes of Shropshire'^ to join the army of her Majesty, and win 
for themselves an imperishable name by cutting the throats of 
their country's enemies for the enormous sum of one shilling per 
day. . 

It was within four miles of the town that Hotspur lost his life, 
in his ill-starred rebellion against Henry the Fourth, more than 
four hundred and fifty years ago. The readers of Shakspeare will 
recollect the poet's account of the action, as given in the second part 
of the tragedy bearing that monarch's name. The king erected 
a church upon the battle-field, to commemorate the victory of his 
arms, and as the walls of the edifice are standing to this day, I 
felt considerable curiosity to visit them, and tread a field so famous 
as that of Shrewsbury. The sun was fast declining, the evening 
rather cool, and the sky cloudy; but these did not deter me from 
making a pilgrimage to the celebrated spot. At a mile or more 
from the town, a toll-gate keeper directed me to the tower of the 
distant church, and after a farther walk of two miles along a 
smooth and pleasant road lined with trees, I arrived at a footpath, 
into which I turned, and, crossing several fields, came up to the 
partially roofless shrine, for a portion of the edifice is under 
cover, and used to this day as a place of religious worship. It is 
a small Gothic building, situate on a level plain about a quarter 
of a mile from the turnpike, in a lonely place, and some willow 
and yew-trees grow in the graveyard, and wave their long tresses 
above the tombs of the dead. Ivy clambers up the walls of the 
beautiful tower, and solitude brooded over the ruin which marks 
the spot whereon Hotspur fell. Evening's shadows gathered fast 
around me, and the pale moon threw her mellow light over the 
plain occasionally, as the flying clouds passed from her face, and 
I stood alone, at the twilight hour, on the ground where the 
bravest Percy yielded up his life, a rebel! It was the hour of 
gloaming, and the faint light glimmered through the cliinks iu 



272 

the ruin, summoning up in m}^ mind the clays of old, and the 
stern warriors who, in coats of mail, fought with battle-axe and 
falchion on that field. But it was no place for dreams, and shak- 
ing off the poetic mist that was hovering over me, I slowly returned 
to my lodgings, satisfied with having visited the most remarkable 
spot in the vicinity of Shrewsbury. 

The capital of Shropshire makes a fine appearance at a dis- 
tance. I saw it one evening, under a fine sunset, from a point 
two miles off. It was grand then, perched upon hills, with a 
glorious flood of sunlight falling in golaen arrows upon its walls 
and tapering spires; and the music of its church bells came 
sweetly to my ear on the roral air over the verdant meadows 
between it and me. 



CHAPTEK XXIX. 

A WALK HARE-SIIOOTING TRAVELLING CO:\IPANIONS — KID- 
DERMINSTER — RIDE TO WORCESTER — THE TOWN AND ITS 
CATHEDRAL. 

Some of the English railway companies carry passengers rea- 
sonably enough sometimes, but not so much to accommodate the 
public as to gratify a spirit of rivalry. When I went to the sta- 
tion at Shrewsbury, and asked for a second-class ticket to Welling- 
ton, a distance of eleven miles, I was surprised that the charge 
was only three pence, and expressed a doubt to the clerk as to the 
correctness of the demand, having frequently before paid two shil- 
lings for being taken a similar distance. He shook his head dole- 
fully, and told me it was the established fare, but stated that it 
was ruinous to the company, and must soon be discontinued. 
Opposition was the cause of the charge being so small, and either 
one or the other of the competitors would soon be compelled to 
yield in consequence of the losses each sustained daily by continu- 
ing to carry persons at such low rates. The train soon conveyed 



ORj WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 273 

me to my destination, and finding that there was no stage from 
there to Kidderminster, as I had been led to believe, I walked 
through the dirty, mean-looking town, and, after securing my 
knapsack, continued my journey on foot. The country partakes 
of the same character as that around Dudley and Wolverhampton ; 
in fact, it is only another section of the same iron and coal district. 
I passed numerous collieries on my route, where the creak of the 
windlass and the puff of the steam-engine were constant. Thick 
black smoke and lurid flames belched from the furnaces, and as I 
pursued my journey the only persons I met for a considerable 
distance were workmen engaged in the neighboring pits — men 
poorly clothed, sallow, and worn, whose appearance indicated neither 
comfort nor intelligence. As I left Wellington, the tall peak of the 
Wreken, one of the highest points of land in England, arose on my 
right, and the clouds began to distil their contents upon the earth; 
but before an hour had passed, the wind veered southward, the 
sun burstforth in beauty, and I found myself uncomfortably warm. 
The country became more picturesque as I receded from the col- 
lieries, and at Coalbrookdale and Iron Bridge, two small places 
located in a valley through which I passed, the scenery was grand. 
The trees were clothed in the foliage of autumn, and the rich 
green grass, high woody hills, and rapid pellucid Severn made 
a picture to be remembered when seen under a sun so bright, and 
a sky so clear. Iron Bridge is an inconsiderable village which 
takes its name from an elegant structure of a single arch, about 
one hundred and twenty feet long, which spans the Severn at that 
place. It was built in 1779, and is a masterpiece of workman- 
ship, and one of the first bridges of the kind erected in Great 
Britain. 

The people were evidently surprised at my advent, and conjec- 
ture was busy as to who or what the stranger was. Nor was the 
curiosity confined altogether to Iron Bridge, for at Brosely my 
appearance created as much sensation as if I had been a stray ele- 
phant, and, however, amusing my visibility may have been to the 
inhabitants, their ill manners and rude gazing were by no means 
agreeable to me, and I marched out of the place in quick step 
time, and soon gained the open country. The scenery through 



274 

which I passed was beautiful ; my road was level and easy of travel ; 
and as it sometimes wound its course along the tops of hills which 
skirted a broad and highly cultivated valley, it afforded many 
grand prospects of the surrounding country. The season was 
the one for game, and I laughed more than once at the pomp- 
ous and foppish sportsmen whom I encountered in my walk. 
They nearly all regarded me with coldness and indifference, and 
I watched them with an eye to fun, for they were, one and all, the 
greatest wonders in their particular line I ever saw. 

When an American reads in an English Newspaper that Mr. 
Smith, or the Right Honorable Mr. Brown, shot one hundred and 
thirty brace of partridges on a specified day, and so many hares, 
rabbits, and pheasants to boot, he forms a good opinion of the 
gunnery of the gentleman named, and very naturally, too ; but, as 
there is a marked difference between hunting in England and the 
same sport in the United States, some account of the English 
system may not be uninteresting to a portion of my readers, and 
may serve to correct certain erroneous impressions the said readers 
may entertain respecting English shooting. It may not be gene- 
rally known that the animals and birds which are, by law, pre- 
served as game in England, are comparatively tame, from the fact 
that no persons but those of a privileged class are allowed to hunt 
them, and that only at a certain season; consequently, they become 
accustomed to man during the remainder of the year, and seldom 
take fright when he appears; and, therefore, when the hunter or 
sportsman makes his advent at the fall of the leaf, he finds but 
little difficulty in dealing death among the feathered tribe. He 
comes prepared with pointers and setters, whippers-in and game- 
keepers, who drive the devoted birds and animals from their co- 
vert, and then the work of destruction commences. The hares 
can hardly be kicked into a walk, and generally sit on their 
haunches, with their eyes agape, wondering what is going on; 
while the eager and delighted sportsmen raise their guns, and, at 
the distance of ten or twelve feet, fire at the astonished and 
affrighted victims, who appear thunderstruck, and sit wondering 
what all the noise and excitement is about, little dreaming that 
they are the cause. The partridges and pheasants are better able 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 275 

to get out of tlie way than the hares and rahbits, for they gene- 
rally take to the wing; but, as they scarcely ever rise until the 
Nimrods are near enough to knock them over with the butt end 
of the gun, there is but little credit due sportsmen for marksman- 
ship. Some of the young gentlemen I met were smoking cigars 
at the same time that they were waiting for the game to appear; 
and one particular individual did " murder most foul, strange, and 
unnatural'' upon a poor wretch of a hare that happened to be 
roused up before him. The animal moved slowly out of the grass, 
made one or two springs to the distance of about fifteen or twenty 
feet, when, as it turned to look back, the sportsman sent the con- 
tents of his gun into it, and was congratulated by his companions 
upon the '''•excellent shot!'' I was looking over the fence, at the 
time, and laughed aloud at the feat the youth had accomplished, 
and thought that it would have been strange if he had missed 
the unlucky animal; for the merest boy could have killed it with 
a gun, un'der the circumstances, and any man could have knocked 
it over with a club without difficulty, and saved the powder and 
shot. The lacqueys who attend the sportsmen are seldom Uceiis,ed 
to kill game, and content themselves with driving it into the 
meshes of their employers, without enjoying the pleasures of a 
shot, that being the exclusive privilege of the master^ and never 
assumed by the man. 

By noon I entered Bridgenorth, a town of considerable size on 
the Severn, but rapidly declining in importance, in consequence 
of its remoteness from railways. It is remarkable for a natural 
terrace, or public promenade, which overhangs the river, and ex- 
tends for a mile along the edge of the high cliff on which the town 
is mainly built. The footway is fifteen or twenty feet wide, and 
protected, on the water side, by a fine iron railing, which runs 
the entire length of the terrace ; and, as the promenade is full 
150 feet above the level of the river, and commands extensive 
views, it is a most delightful resort, in clear weather, for the citi- 
zens of the place. A large majority of the English towns have 
some such place of public comfort and pleasure, and it is greatly 
to the credit of the authorities that they have. Bridgenorth did 
not have many attractions for me, and, having learned that I could 



276 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

obtain a passage to Kidderminster in the evening, I secured a seat 
in a heavy van or wagon, used for conveying goods from place to 
place, and, in company with several others, left the town. My 
fellow-passengers were agreeable, the driver a talkative, jocular, 
good-natured man, and the ride a pleasant one. We chatted of 
the Exhibition, the crops, trade, and railways, and the time passed 
pleasantly by. Once in a while, as we travelled along the bound- 
aries of the large estates on the route, we would come up to a cozy 
little lodge, or gatekeeper's cottage, over which ivy and hardy 
roses clambered in profusion ; and as our driver had a package 
for nearly every one of them, we had abundant opportunity to 
view their beauties, and admire their comforts. All looked well, 
the occupants appeared content, and the children that peeped from 
the windows were rosy and healthful. The road was cut through 
solid sandstone for some distance, and the sides were as smooth 
as hewn walls could be, for such they were. The highways of 
England are usually level, or as nearly so as it is possible to make 
them, and neither labor nor money is spared in constructing 
them. The one alluded to above was a level and easy-travelling 
thoroughfare, and there was a raised footpath its entire length, 
from Bridgenorth to Kidderminster. 

Night came on before we reached our destination, and as the 
evening air grew cool, we alighted at a road-side inn, where we 
were welcomed heartily, and found a good coal fire burning brightly 
in the grate. Everything around looked clean and tidy ; and we 
sat down by the warm hearth-side with a determination to have 
'^ our pleasure in our inn.^' The air might bite without, we 
heeded it not — and a glass of home-brewed ale was better for us 
than a cold blast, and soon set our tongues clattering. A young 
lady who was of our company was very witty and entertaining in 
her conversation, but I cannot say that she won my admiration by 
choosing ghij when she was asked what she would like to drink ; 
but, as it is a custom of the country for women to use both malt 
and distilled liquors as a beverage, it deserves no more blame in 
her particular case than tha a of any other English female. The 
fire was comfortable, the inn warm and cheerful, and the company 
sociable; and as none of us were in a hurry, we spent a pleasant 



277 

half hour in the road-side hostelrie. But no good thing lasts 
long, and the time of departure having arrived, we were obliged 
to desert the pleasant room, and take to the heavy van. We 
rapidly neared the town, and one by one the passengers dropped 
oif, as they arrived at their homes. The young lady bade us adieu 
at the lodge of a gentleman's mansion, where there was a good- 
looking young fellow waiting for her; and as she alighted, several 
prattling children came running out to welcome her home. 

One of my fellow-passengers continued on to the town with us. 
As he had seen me walking through Coalbrookdale in the morning, 
he was very curious to know where I was from. He could not 
exactly satisfy himself as to my fatherland, and as I take a par- 
ticular pleasure in keeping some people in suspense respecting 
that one thing, I let him puzzle his sconce for a considerable time, 
before I gave him the information he sought. 

He told me he had seen me passing through Iron Bridge 
early in the day, and stated that I was the subject of considerable 
curiosity, as none were able to comprehend who or what I was, 
though '^ all agreed that your linen was too good for one who 
tramps from necessity.'' I thanked him for his compliment, and 
told him where I was from, which gave considerable satisfaction. 
He was a sociable, friendly personage, and quite intelligent. 

We reached Kidderminster, at a late hour in the evening, and 
I found it utterly impossible to perambulate its crooked streets 
without losing myself, unless accompanied by a guide, and there- 
fore confined myself for the remainder of the night to the hotel, 
and on the following morning visited the principal places and 
buildings, but found nothing remarkable, or deserving particular 
notice. The town was once famous for the manufacture of carpets, 
but its trade has greatly declined, and the inhabitants complain of 
bad times- The streets are the most crooked I ever beheld, and 
I may be presumed to have seen some that are tolerably awry. 
The old church is the main feature of the place, and a promenade 
for the citizens claims attention. Baxter, the celebrated noncon- 
formist, once officiated in it, but my time did not allow me to wait 
long enough to gain admittance to the sacred fane. 

Those who like it may talk about railway travelling for seeing 
21 



278 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

a country, but give me an outside seat on a good, old-fashioned 
English stage-coach, and I will submit to the extortions of the 
driver for the gratification to be derived from being conveyed 
through the rural sections, at a moderate rate, where fine views 
can be had of splendid roads, rich valleys, and an undulating 
country. Four horses whirled us out of Kidderminster, but not 
much can be said honestly in favor of the good condition of the 
animals, for they were only apologies for horses, and scaly ones at 
that. However, they answered the purpose, and the coach moved 
rapidly along a level road, and through several cheerful little vil- 
lages. The church is always the architectural wonder of an Eng- 
lish hamlet, and the beauty of the structure deserves notice. I 
like to see the elegant spire or battlemented tower of a neat old 
Gothic shrine, starting heavenward from a clump of stately trees ; 
and then the ancient pile, with its diamond-shaped panes and 
traceried windows, has an air of religion about it, that I, for one, am 
loath to divest it of; there is scarcely a hamlet or village in the land 
but can boast one of these quiet fanes. The houses along my 
route looked as ancient as the churches, many of them being built 
in the Elizabethan style, with the gable end facing the street or 
road, and the framework of the structure even with the outer 
surface of the wall, the masonry being painted white, the wood 
black, which gives the edifice a look of antiquity never observed 
in the houses of our land. The village of Ombersley, through 
which we passed, is built in this style, and may be considered the 
most unique place of the kind in the country. The gables of the 
houses face the road, with their bay windows and projecting roofs 
extending from the surface of the wall; and their checkered fronts 
give an ancient air to the street. They all resemble each other, 
all are clean, and all look comfortable. The church stands in the 
centre of a green, and is a perfect picture of itself, with its tall, 
sharp spire, and spear-shaped windows. 

We soon reached Worcester, the capital of the county of that 
name, and its clean appearance, red-brick houses, fine shops, and 
well-paved streets were in strong contrast to the towns I had 
visited the day previously. Some of the dwellings are quite im- 
posing, and there is an aristocratic air about the place in character 



279 

witli its cleanliness and the stiffness of many of its inhabitants. 
The two principal thoroughfares are wide for those of an English 
town, and the showy fronts of the shops and absence of black coal 
smoke render the city the next thing to elegant. There are seve- 
ral extensive porcelain manufactories in the place, and some of 
the finest specimens of that ware made in Great Britain are pro- 
duced in Worcester. Glove-making is also largely followed, and 
the most celebrated manufactory of those articles in England is in 
this city. The hop-market is one of the largest in the kingdom, 
and there is a building expressly for the sale of hops, and one's 
olfactories are constantly assailed by the odor arising from the 
bitter-smelling, but not unpleasant flower, not only on market- 
days, but during the entire week. The city is on a gently sloping 
hill on the banks of the Severn, and possesses, in addition to a 
beautiful promenade along the river, a fine walk of nearly a mile 
in length, at the back of the town, where the inhabitants seek 
recreation'. It is famous for a battle which took place near it in 
the civil wars between the parliamentary troops and those of 
Charles the Second, in which the monarch (then Prince Charles) 
suffered a most signal defeat. The scene of strife is shown to the 
curious, and the hill on which Cromwell planted his artillery 
when he opened his batteries upon the city. Probably no name 
in English history is charged with so many outrages and crimes 
as that of Oliver Cromwell, and every town of note in the king- 
dom exhibits the scars it received from his troops. Vergers 
are the persons to paint Oliver's misdeeds, and if a church or 
cathedral bears about it the slightest marks of pillage. Old Noll 
receives the credit of having committed the injury, whether guilty 
or not, and in the absence of another upon whom to charge the 
act, he, like the compositors in the printing-ofiice, bears on his 
shoulders the errors of his realm and day. 

Like most of the provincial cities of England, Worcester owes 
its celebrity mainly to its famous cathedral, a large Gothic build- 
ing of fine proportions and elegant workmanship, celebrated for 
containing the tomb of King John of 3Iagna Cliarta memory, 
and an elaborately finished florid Gothic chapel over the remains 
of Prince Arthur, son of Henry the Seventh. The tomb of the 



280 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

monarcli is the most ancient royal sepulchre extant in England, 
and occupies a portion of the centre aisle of the cathedral choir, 
and is kept in excellent preservation. The choir itself is grand, 
and contains some curious ornaments in the shape of the armorial 
bearings of the Houses of York and Lancaster after the union of 
the two families. There are some splendid monuments in the 
transepts and nave, and one to Bishop Hough, by Roubiliac, is 
as fine a piece of sculpture as can be found to adorn a tomb. The 
principal figure is that of the divine supported by an angel, who 
is in the act of flying and pointing the way to heaven ; below is 
the representation of the trial of the seven bishops in the days of 
James the Second, and the arrangement and grouping are master- 
pieces of design. Religion is holding a Bible in her hand, and 
watching, with a calm expressive face, the deliberations of the 
judges, while Justice pleads with dignity the cause of Protestant- 
ism. The artist has surpassed himself in this splendid efi"ort of 
the chisel, and produced a group that would make any man im- 
mortal in America. There is also in the building a fine female 
figure, by Chan trey, over the tomb of the deceased wife of a clergy- 
man. The nave and side aisles contain the effigies of several 
crusaders, wearing coats of chain-armor ; but the names of those 
to whom they were erected are unknown, and the stranger gazes 
upon the marble figures deeply impressed with the uncertainty of 
worldly fame and posthumous glory. The cloisters of the cathedral 
are richly groined, and of quadrangular form ; the court-yard in 
the centre being used for burial purposes. Many repairs have 
recently been made in the sacred edifices of the country, but none 
of them impress the mind more with the ancient glory of the ca- 
thedrals than the restorations in the cloisters. The solemn aspect 
they present when completely restored to their former condition 
is impressive in the extreme, and it does not require a lively 
imagination to people them with the brethren of the rosary and 
cowl. 

I ascended the tower of the edifice by a series of staircases, and, 
after viewing the eight heavy bells which swing within its walls, 
continued up to the leads, from which I enjoyed an extensive 
prospect of the city, including the hills of Malvern, with the 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 281 

towns of the same name which nestle at their feet ; the valley of 
the sinuous Severn, with its meadows and bright villages, and the 
distant mountains of Wales. 

In my walks around the city, I observed several objects, besides 
the cathedral, worthy of note; one of them being a stone tower of 
solid masonry, erected near the minster, and wearing the appear- 
ance of having been at one time a portion of what may be con- 
sidered the city walls. It is a massive affair, built like a city 
gate over one of the principal streets, with turrets at the tops and 
port-holes for defence. The Guildhall of the city is highly orna- 
mented in front, and there is a profusion of gilding upon some 
of the scroll-work, and a statue of Queen Anne, which occupies a 
niche at an elevation of some feet above the principal doorway, 
at the sides of which are wooden statues of Charles the First and 
Charles the Second, both of whom wear their crowns with appa- 
rent ease, a thing neither of them was able to do during the 
entire term of their natural lives. 

The Foregate, or main street, is nearly straight, but irregular 
in its width, but still a fine avenue, and busy withal. The clear 
atmosphere, the clean houses and streets, the gay shops, the 
numerous churches, rapid Severn, and old cathedral, make Wor- 
cester a pleasant place for the stranger, and a credit to its inha- 
bitants. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS — GLOUCESTER AND ITS CATHEDRAL 
HOSTELRIES. 

There is a class of men in England who may be regarded as 
native, and almost incapable of existing in any other land. I 
mean those known as Commercial Travellers. They are gentle- 
men ; generally well educated, and never illiterate. Shrewd, 
active, business men, always on the move ; and real birds of 
passage — now in the south, in a few days away to the west, or 

24* 



282 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ', 

traversing the eastern or northern counties. They all live at 
good hotels, and on the best the markets afford, meanness in 
living being no trait in their character, and niggardliness scouted 
by all. Their combined patronage v^ill build up a hotel, and 
particular houses in each town receive their support. The land- 
lords treat them with great respect, and servants pay them par- 
ticular attention. They keep late hours, enjoying the amusements 
of the places in which they remain at night, seldom rise early, 
breakfast at fashionable times, dine late and sumptuously, wines 
being indispensable at dinner, and dress genteelly, but neither 
foppishly or in the current fashion of the day. They travel in 
second-class carriages, and go from the railway stations to hotels 
in cabs or flies, seldom or never condescending to walk. They 
are affable, courteous, friendly, and humorous. When in cities 
where business requires attention, they perform their duty first, 
and make all other things subservient to their particular calling. 
They are well informed, and therefore liberal-minded, freely enter 
into conversation with strangers, and readily accommodate them- 
selves to the society into which they are thrown. Constant inter- 
course with the inhabitants of remote sections of the land and 
strangers makes them a distinct class, and they meet the natives 
of the extremes of their own island with a friendly spirit, always 
overlooking sectional peculiarities and sinking their early preju- 
dices. They regard foreigners as brothers, and treat a French- 
man, a German, or an American with as much cordiality as one 
of their own countrymen. They know no distinctions among 
men except in manners, and without the chilling reserve of the 
untravelled and pompous Englishman, they possess all tbe self- 
respect and good behavior of the well-informed and dignified 
man, and never transgress the laws of gentility. Many of them 
speak French, or German, have travelled on the Continent and in 
Ireland, and converse fluently on most subjects. They are strict 
disciplinarians at the houses in which they stop, and have a 
method of recognition amounting to freemasonry. They travel 
almost constantly, and seldom remain longer in a town than their 
business requires. Take them as a class, and they assuredly are 
a peculiar one, they are eminently original and distinct from the 



ORj WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 283 

4 

balance of their countrymen. But enough of their habits and 
customs ; let me tell you who and what they are, if possible. 
They are attaches of mercantile establishments and manufactories 
in the large cities and towns, and travel through the country, 
making sales by sample. They ordinarily receive a guinea per 
day for expenses, which accounts for their liberal style of living, 
and in addition to which they receive salaries according to their 
capacities, varying from one hundred to eight hundred pounds 
per annum. Many of them are married, but their almost con- 
stant absence from home estranges them in a great measure from 
their families. But few of them accumulate fortunes, in conse- 
quence of the expensive habits they acquire in the performance of 
their duty, and numbers of them die prematurely, leaving small 
and destitute children to the tender mercies of a selfish world. 
They have beneficial societies, and support one or more schools 
for the education of the orphans of deceased members, to which 
they contribute liberally and are very attentive. In some cases, 
they entertain high notions, and never lower their dignity by 
patronizing a third-rate house, considering themselves degraded 
by doing so. This comes from their employment and associations, 
and necessarily so, as English society is constituted ; for the buyer 
will not make his purchases so readily from the Travellers who 
stop at the third-rate as he will from those who frequent the 
second-class inns, and therefore it is the interest of the Com- 
mercial, in both a business and personal point of view, to take 
up his abode in those hotels to which the majority give the pre- 
ference, and to which purchasers usually repair. 

In their intercourse with society, they endeavor to make them- 
selves agreeable, knowing well that cheerfulness and sociability, 
blended with good breeding, will advance their interests greatly. 
This may be considered selfish by some; but charity will lead the 
liberal mind to conclude that there is less of that spirit in it than 
a disposition to be on good terms with all men. In my inter- 
course with them, I found them as described, and never rude 
or uncourteous — a thing I cannot say of some of their country- 
men with whom I met, who appeared to consider themselves 
made of superior clo^^ to that used in the composition of the Com- 



284 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

mercial Traveller. On the journey from "Worcester to Gloucester, 
I became acquainted with one of the best of his class, and as he 
was an intelligent, sociable man, we grew quite friendly, and 
rode to Gloucester in company, where, while he attended to his 
duties, I rambled about, visiting the most interesting and im- 
portant objects in the city and vicinity. 

Gloucester is situate on a plain near the Severn, and presents 
an air of cleanliness and beauty never met with in the large manu- 
facturing towns of the north. In fact, the cities of the south and 
west of England, with one or two exceptions only, are different in 
nearly every particular from those of the midland and northern 
counties. This comes from the absence of great woollen, cot- 
ton, and iron manufactories, and the small amount of black, 
filthy coal soot and smoke like that which rises in such density 
from the tall chimneys of the steam-engines and workshops at 
the north. 

The principal streets of the city cross each other at right angles, 
but they are not uniform in width, and, consequently, far from 
pleasing. The peaked gables, projecting windows, arched ways, 
'and great court-yards of three or four old hostelries, in certain 
sections, carry the observer back in imagination to the times when 
men made pilgrimages to the shrines of saints, and weary, dusty 
travellers, with staff and scrip, wallets and sumpter-loads, thronged 
the court-yard, or passed the hours in noisy conversation in the 
large rooms where the guests met in common. But the old is 
being blended with the new, and the hostelrie will, ere long, dis- 
appear. Improvement is visible in Gloucester even now, and 
commerce is enlarging her limits. A ship canal unites her docks 
with the Severn, and vessels from the West Indies, United States, 
and other foreign lands lie side by side at her wharves. Her 
docks are ample to accommodate several hundred vessels, and 
there are some large warehouses adjoining, equal in dimensions 
to those of Liverpool, but far superior in appearance. 

The great architectural feature of Gloucester is the cathedral, 
a grand specimen of Gothic masonry. The tower is highly 
enriched with windows and ornamental mouldings, graceful pinna- 
cles, and fine parapets. The body of the edifice is in character 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 285 

with the graceful lantern, the angles of the transepts being 
adorned with small pinnacled towers of chaste proportions. The 
interior of the nave, although grand, did not impress me with its 
beauty. The pillars are plain unfluted shafts of considerable 
height, and as the arches are Gothic, bounded by heavy zigzag 
mouldings, they have the massive appearance of the plain Grecian 
column. The windows are rich in colors, and the entire effect 
upon the mind is impressive, but not imposing. There is a solid 
grandeur about the interior rarely observed in Gothic edifices, 
and not so much of the foliated chiselling and elaborate ornament 
usual to the style. 

The choir is exquisite. The groining and mouldings, the 
tracery and carvings, and clustered columns are like beautiful em- 
broidery petrified; and when the modified and mellowed light 
streams through the immense and gorgeous east window, the 
largest in the world, that section of the edifice wears an air of 
grandeur and solemn magnificence it would be difficult to describe 
to one who has never seen the interior of a richly ornamented 
Gothic fane of past centuries. The stalls of the prebendaries at 
each side of the choir are of carved oak, and represent some 
strange scenes. One of these is two knights playing at dice, and 
each is completely absorbed in the game. Others defy description, 
but all are curious, and the most of them decidedly inappropriate 
church ornaments. 

The morning service was begun while I was in the cathedral; 
but, by speaking to a verger, I obtained a guide to conduct me 
through the edifice, and point out its attractions. A modest 
young girl, arrayed in a neat dress of black, was introduced to me, 
and we soon became sociable. She was intelligent, and well 
versed in the history of the shrine, and the principal objects con- 
nected with it. We slowly paced the lengthened aisles, she point- 
ing out the tombs, and I admiring them. One old, solemn monu- 
ment, in the chancel, was particularly attractive, in consequence 
of its position and the excellent preservation of the figure and or- 
naments. It is in an exquisite florid Gothic chapel, through the 
stained windows of which the shadowy sunlight wavered, as I 



286 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

stood at its side, with my gentle guide opposite, with her arm rest- 
ing upon the prostrate crusader. 

''This/' said she, "is the tomb of Robert, Duke of Normandy, 
the eldest son of William the Conqueror. The figure is carved 
in Irish bog-oak, and remarkably perfect, considering that it was 
executed so early as 1134.'' 

The effigy is a masterpiece of work, encased in a coat of chain 
armor, the right hand crossing the body, and resting upon the hilt 
of a sword. The face is expressive and the features unimpaired, 
which are unusual in figures of so great an age. The legs are 
crossed, crusader-like, showing that the stern warrior, to whose 
memory the tomb was reared, was engaged in the mad expeditions 
of his class in the Holy Land, and won honorable distinction 
there. 

Thoughts of the past entered my mind, when gazing on the 
musty monument — of armed knights and mailed cavaliers, Nor- 
man barons and boorish retainers. That figure is well calcu- 
lated to recall to mind the dim events of the Middle Ages, 
and the romance of history. The interior of the beautiful cha- 
pel was a picture, to me, as we stood on the side of the pros- 
trate crusader, conversing of his deeds of valor and daring. What 
a change, thought I, since he who rests below walked upright 
upon the earth ! Then, the noble wielded more power than Eng- 
land's monarch at the present day. Now, a timid, gentle maiden 
shows, as a curiosity, the tomb of one, once mighty, whose literary 
attainments are surpassed, at this time, by those of nearly every 
ploughman in the country. 

In the same chancel is the tomb of Edward the Second, 
who was murdered at Berkley Castle in 1327. It is near the 
high altar, and adorned with a figure of the king, in repose, finely 
carved, and in good preservation. As we entered the north tran- 
sept, my attention was arrested by a tablet in the wall to the 
^'memory of Gen. Wm. Lyman, of Massachusetts, late United 
States Consul to London, who departed this life 22d September, 
1811!" The incident may not be worth mentioning, but an 
American is glad to meet his countrymen in a foreign land, dead 
or alive -, and I am sure that, if I did not derive pleasure from 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 287 

reading the inscription quoted, I came on it so unexpectedly that 
I read it with more interest than I would have done had it not 
marked the resting-place of one of my countrymen. And then it 
was some gratification to know that he was buried beside dukes 
and kings; although it is more than probable that he was a 
better man than either of his ducal, or royal neighbors. 

The cloisters of the cathedral are the finest in England, the 
roof being embellished with superb fan tracery. The nave is im- 
posing, and adorned with modern monuments and statues, the best 
being that of Dr. Jenner, the discoverer of the Kine Pox and vacci- 
nation. There is a tablet to the memory of a clergyman, who ma- 
terially aided Robert Kaikes, the printer, and founder of Sunday- 
schools, in his laudable endeavors to establish those institutions 
permanently. The names of both are mentioned on the marble; 
but it occurred to me that the founder of Sunday-schools deserves 
a separate monument, instead of the bare cold mention made of 
him on the tablet of one who owes his fame to money. Glou- 
cester is his birthplace, an 1 there should be his grave, and a 
tribute to his worth. Every Sunday-school child in Christendom 
would contribute something to his monument, if a project to build 
one were set on foot; and what more appropriate place for it than 
Gloucester Cathedral ! From the far lands, from the isles of the 
sea, and remote sections of the earth, contributions would be sent; 
and lisping children of every clime, by their united efforts, would 
raise to Robert Raikes's memory a record at once appropriate and 
honorable to his name. 



288 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE WEST OF ENGLAND — BRISTOL — ST. MARY REDCLIFFE — SIR 
WM. draper's TOMB — STERNE's ELIZA — LADY HESKETH — 
CLIFTON DOAYNS COLSTON SCHOOL PRONUNCIATION. 

The west of England is mostly undulating, and well wooded. 
There is less sterility than at the north, and greater diversity of 
scenery, and none of the flatness of the large eastern counties. 
The spirit of manufacture is not so much encouraged as in Lan- 
cashire, and there are no large cities with clouds of smoke hover- 
ing over them to prove the existence of white slavery and great 
monopolies. The woollen manufacture is on a large scale, but in 
a more primitive condition than in Yorkshire. The factories are 
in the country, on the banks of pellucid streams ; are mostly clean, 
cheerful-looking edifices, differing, in every particular, from the 
dingy, prison-like castles of the northern cities. Capital does not 
appear to have swept away the man of limited means ; and here 
and there, throughout the rural sections, the traveller sees mills 
of moderate dimensions surrounded by a village of neat and com- 
fortable cottages. Between Bristol and Gloucester such are 
numerous. They are similar in build to the isolated cotton 
factories of the United States ; and the fact of the atmosphere 
around them being clear proves that the workmen, when out of 
their shops, enjoy pure air, a luxury seldom indulged in by the 
operatives of Leeds and Halifax, towns over which the smoke 
hangs too thick for easy breathing. Bristol is, perchance, the 
exception, in respect to cleanliness, among the towns of the west 
of England ; but even it, with its dirt and inky atmosphere, is 
not so bad as its sister cities of the north. 

When a man enters a large town alone, and passes along its 
streets without recognizing a face or meeting a mortal who knows 
him, he feels a sense of solitude as keen as that which comes over 
him in the depths of the forest or the wide-foaming waste of 



ORj WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 289 

ocean. He presses forward through the throngs that fill the streets 
without exchanging a word with a single individual, unheeded, 
but not unheeding. Not one of the hundreds whom ho encounters 
meets him with a friendly look, and he searches in vain among 
the passing faces for a glance of recognition. His unusual dress 
may attract the momentary attention of an idle boy or curiosity- 
seeker, but, as soon as the observer is satisfied with gazing, he 
pursues his way without a word of friendship to the stranger. On 
the wanderer goes, and the deeper he penetrates into the city the 
denser becomes the mass of humanity, and the more indifi"erent 
he becomes to them. With feelings such as a solitary stranger 
may be supposed to entertain under like circumstances, I en- 
tered the really ancient-looking city of Bristol. J^ tide of mortals 
poured along the thoroughfare in which I trod with my knapsack 
at my side, and as the haze of an autumn evening slowly settled 
around, the antique houses on either side of the narrow, crooked, 
and circumscribed way more forcibly reminded me, than the in- 
different crowd, of my isolated and lonely situation. I felt that I 
was a stranger in a strange land, but it was a melancholy feeling 
of pleasure, and one that I rather encouraged than dismissed from 
my thoughts. The lights began to glimmer in the windows 
before I reached an inn, and as I passed over the old bridge made 
renowned by the genius of Chatterton, the recollection of him 
flashed across my mind, and I stopped to survey the objects around 
me, and breathe a sigh for the " boy bard of Bristol.^' On I went, 
looking now on this side, now on that, in search of a place of rest, 
and at the end of another quarter of an hour came up to an old 
gable-fronted building, with bay-windows, filled with diamond- 
shaped panes, having a passage-way which led into a court-yard. 
I was a dusty pilgrim, with stafi" and shell, and this was, in truth, 
an ancient hostelrie. There were some servants in the space, and 
the light of the lamps revealed to my sight a series of stories, one 
rising above the other, around each of which was a gallery. The 
attendant took my pack, and ushered me into a cheerful room, 
where a bright sea-coal fire burned briskly and a number of 
gentlemen were enjoying their tea. The people did not have 
the look of the ancient day, and I soon dismissed from my 
25 



290 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY J 

thoughts the idea that I had been transported back three centu- 
ries into the company of men contemporary with Queen Bess. 
They were not subjects of the virgin ruler of England, not they. 
Doublets and hose they scorned, and ruffles found no favor with 
them. The inn was ancient ; they were modern, and dressed in 
the mode of Victoria's reign, not that of Elizabeth. 

Tired of a long walk, I found sweet repose before the parlor 
fire, and relaxation from the toil of travel. Sleep invited to rest, 
and I was led, like a sheep to slaughter, up several pairs of stairs, 
and along three or more galleries to the room assigned me. I was 
bewildered with the windings, and would have perished in the 
flames, no doubt, had the house been burned that night, because 
I would not have been able to retrace my steps, and, consequently, 
could not have escaped. The sleeping apartment, except the 
bed, was in character with the exterior of the house, and its 
secluded court-yard. The floors were oak ; the room wain- 
scoted; the windows of diamond-panes set in leads; and the 
ceiling ornamented with the arms of some defunct noble. It was 
a place to dream in, and I lay down with vague impressions on 
my mind of being in the company of staid old fellows in un- 
fashionable breeches and powdered wigs, but thought no more of 
them, and awoke at daylight with the happy consciousness of 
having enjoyed a good sound sleep in a comfortable downy bed. 

A daylight ramble, through the olden part of the town, contri- 
buted to my gratification. The houses almost touch each other 
at the upper stories as they bend across the street. The gables 
face the avenues, and as the stories project one over the other, 
they form a shelter for the pedestrian. Some of the dwellings 
are richly ornamented on the front with strange carvings, oriel 
windows, foliated mouldings, and scroll-work of gay designs, with 
doors of solid oak. One not accustomed to such things notices 
all, and finds pleasure in contemplating the curious and quaint in 
the architecture of Bristol, a city with more of the really ancient 
left it than any other in England. It is large, with narrow, 
crooked, and dirty streets. Some of the more fashionable avenues 
in the business part abound in fine showy shops and good modern 
dwellings, but the by-streets are quaint and curious, Elizabethan 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 291 

and dreamy. The city was famous centuries ago, and carried on 
an extensive foreign trade when even London had but little com- 
merce. Its merchants then were numerous and wealthy, and be 
it said charitable, for Bristol has one or more institutions at this 
day of a benevolent character established centuries ago by her 
merchant princes. 

The river (or more properly rivers!) flows through the city, 
and as the waters are navigable for large vessels, numbers of ships 
line the quays. Several bridges cross the streams at different 
points in the town, and crowds throng them, but not such as were 
wont "to checker the Rialto;" but merchants of another class, 
itinerant dealers in fruits, &c. The new portion, known as Clifton, 
is a place of '' magnificent distances," and very irregular. It is 
built as if every individual proprietor were determined to have a 
street of his own, regardless of the taste or convenience of his neigh- 
bor ; and as the ground is hilly, there is great diversity of surface 
and scenery. There are plenty of streets with fine names ; cres- 
cents and terraces; parks and places ] squares and rows; and hills 
and hollows in abundance, but still great beauty. There are nu- 
merous noble views from the hills in the parks, and from Clifton 
Downs, which will repay for the trouble of climbing. The best 
is that of the Avon and Severn from St. Vincent's Ptock, a bold, 
precipitous clifi^, which overhangs the first named stream. 

One of my earliest visits was to St. Mary Redcliffe — the church 
made celebrated by the genius of Chatterton. I threaded my way 
for a considerable distance through old and gloomy streets — dark 
as those in Eastern cities — now surrounded by a mass of filthy, 
barefooted children, and anon in a crowd of slatternly women and 
ill-looking men — until I emerged into the full light of day in a 
wide space before the splendid edifice. The spirit of restoration 
was rife then, so far as repairing the churches of Bristol went, 
and St. Mary's was undergoing many improvements. The new 
masonry and sculpture are excellent, and bear evidence to the fact 
that the artisans of this day are equally capable of producing 
fine buildings as those of bygone centuries, when they have 
the opportunity. The edifice is large and unusually fine, being 
in three several styles of Gothic architecture, and rich in mould- 



292 

ings, carvings, and elaborate ornaments. It is in the cruciform 
ghape, and bears^ greater resemblance to a monastery or cathedral 
than a simple church. 

I entered its walls with feelings of admiration bordering on en- 
thusiasm, because they are hallowed by the genius of Chatterton, 
and historically blended with the names of Canynge and Rowley, 
the reputed author and the presumed preserver of the poems pub- 
lished by the proud boy in an obsolete language, the better to deceive 
mankind. The interior is very fine, having the appearance of 
a cathedral. I wandered through the nave and aisles, and, after 
noticing the principal objects there, ascended to the Muniment 
room over the north porch, where the Rowley MSS. were reported 
to have been discovered. The chamber is sextangular, of consider- 
able extent, the windows being without glass, and open to the 
weather. The old coffers, or chests, which once contained the 
records of Canynge's mercantile operations, are open and empty, 
but still regarded with veneration, and preserved in the same con- 
dition in which they were left by the authorities under whose 
direction they were broken open nearly a century ago. The place 
is secluded, and just suited to such a mind as that of the wonderful 
youth, whose literary forgeries have made it famous, and sought 
for by the admirers of his extraordinary, but misapplied talents. 

I have ever felt an admiration for Chatterton, and visited his 
native city for the purpose of seeing those places made renowned by 
his writings. The church just mentioned is the most interesting 
object extant connected with the history of the wayward boy, and 
pilgrimages are made to it by the admirers of his genius. The 
interior is imposing and handsomely ornamented. While roaming 
about it, I observed several interesting mementos of the past — 
two of which are original paintings by Hogarth, of large dimensions, 
executed by the artist expressly for the church during his resi- 
dence in Bristol. The designs are scriptural and well drawn, but 
the coloring, although good^ partakes too much of West's brick 
shade to be pleasing. 

The tombs of Rowley and Canynge are in the usual style of 
such works of past centuries, and owe their celebrity more to the 
talents of the bard than to their artistic merits. Near them, 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 293 

attached to one of the columns of the south transept, is a marble 
tablet, on which is engraved a long history of the services of Sir 
William Penn, the father of the founder of Pennsylvania. 
The guide insisted that it was to the memory of the grandfather 
of the Quaker, but the date 1670 sets the matter at rest. Several 
torn and decayed banners, captured by the deceased in battle, 
hang motionless in the dead air above his tomb, together with a 
coat of mail, visor, gloves, and pair of spurs, the property of the 
admiral in his lifetime. The family escutcheon, also, adorns the 
column, but the motto ^' Pennsylvania" is not on the scroll, as at 
Stoke Pogis. 

^'The dim, religious light," which diffuses itself through the 
interior of St. Mary Ptedcliffe, must have had its effect upon the 
gloomy mind of Chatterton; and that the idea of his literary 
forgeries was suggested to him, when musing over the tombs of 
Canynge and his contemporaries, is probable from the fact 
that he was familiar, to a certain extent, with the history of the 
Bristol merchant, and in the constant habit of passing hours in 
the church. He knew that the world would scout the idea of one 
so young as himself being able to produce the poems he composed, 
and the rejected papers obtained from the coffers of Canynge, 
in connection with his reflections among the tombs, decided him 
to impose upon the world, as the works of Rowley, the productions 
of his own mind. Chagrined and disappointed in his ambitious 
schemes, he died by his own hand at an age when others are but 
children, and a cold, selfish world heeded not his struggles and 
manly battles against adversity. Uncomplaining fortitude in him 
was a crime, and he expired without a friend to mourn his un- 
timely and melancholy fate. The austerely pious may condemn 
his rashness and unbending will, but the truly charitable and hu- 
mane will regret his end, and hope that the Great Creator, in his 
infinite mercy, has granted to the proud boy in another and a better 
world that exemption from misery and pain he never enjoyed in 
this. 

Bristol is built so oddly as to defy a pen and ink description, 
and the only way to convey an idea of it in writing is to give 
short general sketches. Two streams and a canal run through it, 

25* 



294 

but their course is so irregular that one descriptive expression 
will sufl&ce for all — abominably crooked ! The larger of the two 
rivers has a wide quay on either side, and lies between the new 
town known as Clifton, and the old part of the city, where the 
trade is mainly transacted. There is wide space on either side, 
between it and the houses, which is crowded during the day 
with people, and vans laden with merchandise. The thoroughfare 
is the most direct road to the cathedral and Bristol Downs, and 
consequently much crowded. I wandered along until I reached 
the old church of St. Augustine, an elegant Gothic edifice of 
considerable extent, surrounded by a graveyard thickly studded 
with tombstones. While loitering in the ground, the sexton di- 
rected me to the last resting-place of a man whose fame comes 
down to us more because of its accidental connection with the " Let- 
ters of Junius," than of any particular merit of its owner, although 
Sir William Draper was not a common man. He provoked the 
enmity of a writer whose lash he could not bear, and whose powers 
he misjudged; and found, too late, that he had unwittingly out- 
generalled himself (as many military men have done both before 
and since his time) by trusting too much to his ability to wield 
the pen and too little to the sword. The sarcasm and pungency 
of Junius's sentences were too severe, and after seeking, unsuc- 
cessfully, forgetfulness of his mortifications in America, he 
returned to his native city, where he died of a broken spirit, and 
was buried in the same grave with those from whose blood he 
sprung. But few are cognizant of his burial-place, and fewer yet 
seek it out. His memory will live longer in the pages of " Junius" 
than those of military history; and as I stood by his tomb, I could 
not avoid moralizing on the follies of ambition, when I discovered 
that the stone did not even bear his name. The survivors of the 
knight did not think it proper to encumber his tomb with an 
epitaph, and those curious to know must learn the locality of the 
resting-place from the sexton, in whose memory is the register of 
the dead within his realm. 

The vicinity was evidently a favorite of the ecclesiastics of old, 
as the cathedral, a fine cruciform building, is but a few hundred 
yards from the church. The old pile is fine, both internally and 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 295 

externally. The transepts and aisles are adorned with numerous 
monuments, some of which are elegant, and others of more than 
ordinary interest even to the casual observer. The edifice may 
not inappropriately be called a second Westminster Abbey; and 
if the fact of its being the last resting-place of many who have 
been distinguished for genius, or amability and personal excel- 
lence, be sufficient to entitle it to the appellation, then it is richly 
deserving the name. As I entered the sacred fane, the first 
object that arrested my attention was a monument in the form of 
a Gothic arch, within which are two female figures, chastely sculp- 
tured from pure statuary marble — one representing Genius, the 
other Benevolence; each pointing to a tablet between them, on 
which is engraved an epitaph to the memory of Mrs. Elizabeth 
Draper — Sterne's Eliza. 

The attention I paid the record and monument was observed 
by one of the vergers, a gentlemanly man, wdio immediately ten- 
dered his services to guide me through the building. We turned 
to the left from the transept into the north aisle, where there are 
several fine pieces of sculpture, not the least deserving of notice of 
which is a bust of Robert Sourbey, by Bailey, one of the best 
of English statuaries. The form has the appearance of life; the 
features are chiselled with a masterly hand, bearing in every 
line an unmistakable resemblance to the original. The peculiari- 
ties of mind of the versatile poet are forcibly depicted, and the 
physiognomist can trace instantly, in the speechless representative, 
the character of the man. In the same section of the edifice is 
a rather gaudy and heavy monument, deficient in chasteness and 
purity of design, but still interesting, from being to the memory 
of the wife of the Rev. William Mason, the friend and companion 
of Gray. The record is simple, concluding with the incomparable 
lines of the author of " Elfrida," the acknowledged merit of which 
has procured them a place in the classic poetry of England, and a 
repetition here, however trite it may appear, cannot impair their 
beauty : — 



296 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

*' Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear : 

Take that best gift Avhich heaven so lately gave ; 
To Bristol's font I bore, with trembling care. 

Her faded form: she bowed to taste the wave, 
And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line ? 

Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm ? 
Speak, dead Maria, breathe a strain divine; 

Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm : 
Bid them be chaste, be innocent like thee ; 

Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move ; 
And if so fair, from vanity as free. 

As firm in friendship and as fond in love, 
Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful thing to die, 

('Twas even to thee,) yet, the dread path once trod, 
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high. 

And bids the pure in heart behold their God." 

There is a neat marble tablet, in tbe east wall of the south 
transept, to the memory of '' Dame Harriet Hesketh, the relative 
and valued friend of the great moral poet Cowper." Her remains 
rest in a tomb in the south aisle, covered by a flat stone bearing 
an unostentatious inscription. The admirer of the letters of the 
amiable poet of Olney muses with peculiar feeling over her grave, 
for to her genius and sincere friendship for the bard the world 
owes the production and perusal of some of the finest epistolary 
compositions in the English tongue. 

The architecture of Bristol Cathedral is Gothic, and although 
the edifice is of moderate dimensions, it is handsome. The chap- 
ter-house is one of the finest specimens of pure Norman extant. 
The verger led me to it, and his descriptions of its beauties were 
far from exaggerations. The windows are adorned with glass of 
splendid coloring, the decorations of the walls are superb, and 
the interlacings of the Norman arches exquisitely beautiful. 
While I was admiring the department, one of the resident clergy- 
men entered, and approached me in an easy, friendly manner, so 
Christianlike as to gain my esteem at once. There was no hy- 
pocrisy in his face, and his sociable, gentlemanly deportment, and 
cheerful, communicative disposition were indicative of true piety. 
He conducted me to one angle of the room, and directed my at- 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 297 

tention to the glories of the edifice with an evident desire to con- 
tribute as far as he could to my gratification. The mouldings, the 
stained glass, the painted walls, the harmonious proportions, all 
the splendors of the place were pointed out with care, and I 
scarcely knew which to admire most, the conversation and amiable 
manners of the man, or the grandeur and perfection of the archi- 
tecture. Both were gems, and both deserving a niche in the tem- 
ple of memory. There was a spirit of gentleness about the man, 
and dignity of character blended with humility, that argued in my 
mind the sincere Christian and upright being, and satisfied me that 
he was in fact what he professed, and at the same time an honor 
to his sect and calling. My visit was pleasant, and I left the old 
fane much gratified with what I heard and saw. 

The spirit of improvement and restoration is evident in Bristol, 
and not confined to the churches. At one extreme of an open 
space or park, called College Green, near the cathedral, the city 
authorities have recently caused to be erected a light, airy, chaste, 
florid Gothic market-cross, which, for delicacy and richness of or- 
nament, cannot be surpassed. It is of a light-colored stone, in the 
most finished style of the florid period, and yet not so elaborately 
ornamented or decorated with rich carvings as to create in the 
mind of the beholder an idea of profusion. It is open, with fine, 
bold, well-proportioned arches and buttresses, and pinnacles at the 
angles, and as it stands in a grove of trees it appears to great ad- 
vantage. 

The principal parks are on the Clifton side of the harbor, and 
are large and handsome. I walked through several, and visited 
the Downs, a public ground lying at the top of the eastern bank 
of the Avon, known as St. Vincent's Rocks. The surface is 
irregular, and as the elevation is great, a fine view is aiforded 
of the surrounding country and the deep chasm through which 
the river flows. On the summit are the remains of an ancient 
Koman fortification 200 yards in length and 150 feet wide. The 
form is semicircular, and traces of a fosse are visible. The walls 
are composed of limestone piled in regular line, and cemented 
together with heated mortar so solidly as almost to defy separa- 
tion even at this period. On the opposite side of the river simi- 



298 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

lar remains exist, and antiquaries are of opinion that those on 
Clifton Down constituted the most important Roman camp in 
western Britain, and here were beacon-fires lighted when dan- 
ger threatened the minor fortresses in the valleys, the remains 
of many of which still exist in the surrounding country. 

Clifton is the fashionable section of the city, and much resorted 
to by invalids who seek the advantages of its mineral waters. The 
walks around the springs and baths are romantic, and command 
in clear weather fine prospects in every direction. The atmo- 
sphere is salubrious, being exempt from the thick, black smoke 
which impregnates the air over Bristol. Its streets are steep and 
crooked, wide and clean, which is more than can be said with 
truth of many avenues in other English towns. 

Among the noted places of the old town is the Colston School, 
where Chatterton was for a short time a scholar. The building 
is an antique structure, in the Elizabethan style, located on a 
back street, and may be described as a quaint '' house with seven 
gables." The founder bequeathed lands and tenements for the 
support of the institution, and one hundred boys are educated, 
boarded, and clothed there for seven years, after which time they 
are apprenticed out to trades. It is an excellent institution, and 
cherished by the inhabitants as a noble charity. 

The inhabitants of the city speak a dialect difi'erent from that of 
the north or east, and whether educated or not their pronunciation 
of certain words is the same. I was forcibly reminded more than 
once of the negroes of the Southern States when I heard persons 
say ''yer'^ and <'gwain" instead of ^* here" and ^^going." The 
same peculiarities exist in the remote districts of the south-west, 
and the pronunciation there differs in every particular from that at 
the north, and from that of the cockneys who mouth every word, 
and put the o where the a should be, in addition to the known habit 
they have of calling horses orses, and the atmosphere the hafmo- 
sphere. 

The educated English about London pretend to laugh at the 
" nasal drawl" of the Yankees, and speak of it as a national pecu- 
liarity. It would be well if they were to look at home before 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 299 

sneering at Jonathan about that. They will find as much to ridi- 
cule in Somerset as ever they will in the United States if they go 
there for a few months. The nasal drawl is outdone by the 
sniffling twang of the people of that county and Devonshire, 
sections of England where puritanism was rampant in its day, 
and whence the Yankee 'pronunciation was exported to the 
shores of New England. The untravelled cockney who visits 
America is shocked at our speech, and pretends not to understand 
us, when, if he were to go into Yorkshire, Northumberland, or 
Devonshire, he would be equally at a loss to comprehend the 
natives of those sections of his own isle, some of whom use words 
unintelligible to the educated man, and incomprehensible to the 
Londoner. x\lmost every county has its peculiar dialect, and the 
native of each is generally recognized by his tongue. Somerset 
and Devon have the sniffle and the drawl, and some of the 
rustics of those provinces speak through the nose as strongly as 
the rawest Yankees of Vermont or Connecticut. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

BATH — ITS BEAUTY ABBEY CHURCH AN INCIDENT. 

The city in which Beau Nash reigned the monarch of fashion 
is one of the most beautiful in England, and at the same time one 
of the most aristocratic. Cleanliness is a peculiarity of the place, 
and although some of the permanent inhabitants are not remark- 
ably free from dirt, but few of them are so filthy as the illustrious 
Prince Bladud was when, wallowing in the mud of the valley in 
which the city stands, he discovered the medicinal properties of 
the springs for which it is chiefly celebrated. Night had fairly 
closed in when I arrived at Bath, and as the darkness was intense, 
I had considerable difiiculty in ascertaining the geography of the 
town. The railway station is not immediately in the thickly set- 
tled section, and as the place is scattered and built on both high 



300 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

and low land, I witnessed a singular scene. Brilliant gas-lights 
glittered on the surrounding hills like dazzling planets, and as 
they were far above me, I was at a loss which way to proceed, 
not knowing whether the principal thoroughfare lay in the valley 
or on the highland. The darkness made the lights doubly bright, 
and therefore the scene they presented, scattered on hills and dis- 
persed through the valley, was extremely strange. I soon obtained 
lodgings, a thing rarely denied me, and on the following morn- 
ing commenced my rambles in and about Bath. The streets are 
wide and well paved, the houses built of stone and generally 
imposing, the parks large and beautifully laid out, and the whole 
appearance of the place fashionable and aristocratic. There are 
several fine crescents flanked by noble edifices, and much that is 
really imposing. Many of the streets in the level section are 
straight and elegant, and those that ascend the hills are both 
picturesque and secluded. There are several large public build- 
ings of note, the most attractive of which are the Abbey Church 
and Pumproom, the latter being embellished with a full-length 
marble statue of the great leader of fashionable folly in other 
days, Beau Nash. The baths and springs are numerous, and much 
resorted to by invalids ; in fact, the city is always well attended 
by the feeble, and the stranger notices those in large numbers on 
fine days taking exercise in the open air on foot, attended by serv- 
ants, or being drawn about the parks by men in small vehicles 
called Bath-chairs, in shape like a gig, and so constructed as to be 
readily closed up by glass doors in case of rain or unpleasant cold. 
They are of great service to those who are too weak to walk, or 
endure the jar of a carriage drawn by horses, and although an 
American may regard them at first sight as admirably adapted to 
the idle and lazy, he cannot but acknowledge their utility in cases 
of sickness, where the patient is too weak to walk or ride, and yet 
sufficiently strong to endure the passive exercise of being drawn 
slowly over a smooth, level causeway in an easy-going carriage 
such as the Bath-chairs are. 

The Abbey Church is a fine large edifice, in the Gothic style of 
architecture, and rich in external as well as internal ornaments ; 
not the least singular of which is a representation, at the western 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 301 

end of the edifice, in stone, of Jacob's Dream, in which the per- 
sons descending the ladder are distinguished from those ascending 
by being represented in the act of coming down head foremost. 
The idea of illustrating the vision thus, in sculpture, is original 
and laughable : but correct, after all ; for how else could the artist 
picture the descending throng ! If all were heads up, the 
observer would be puzzled to know which set was on the ascent, 
or which journeying earthward. The figures looked quite ridicu- 
lous, and caused me to laugh heartily. Each one sticks his head 
over the heels of his neighbor in the advance, as if fearful of being 
kicked in the face ; or anxious, mud- turtle like, to draw his cra- 
nium under cover, in case of danger becoming imminent. The 
authors of "Rejected Addresses" talk somewhere about '^ sprawling 
grifiins;" but I never fully realized their meaning until I saw 
the figures on the ladder in Jacob's Dream at the Abbey Church 
of Bath. They are sprawling, to all intents and purposes. 

The building is situated in a central part of the city, and, as it 
is not inclosed by houses, it is seen to considerable advantage. 
The interior is lofty and grand, the nave and transepts fine, and 
crowded with tombs and tablets, among which is the monument 
of lieau Nash, on which there is a Latin inscription setting forth 
the virtues of the fop ! Of the tablets, that to Quinn, the actor, is 
really fine, the medallion head of the wit being a masterpiece. It 
is inscribed with a florid epitaph by Garrick. There are several 
pieces of sculpture by Chantrey; but as they are to the memory 
of persons whose sole merit was wealth or title, they shall be 
nameless here. 

The Avon flows through the city, but it is so contracted that 
no one, in the least acquainted with noble rivers, would ever call it 
by that name. It is navigable for small vessels, and, like nearly all 
the English streams, although narrow, is deep. To the south 
of it is a range of hills which commands a magnificent panorama 
of Bath and the surrounding country. I ascended to its summit 
to enjoy the prospect it presents, and was repaid for my toil. 
The city lies deep in the valley, immediately at the base of the 
highlands, its suburbs stretching away to the north, the isolated 
mansions dotting the distant hills. To the east are the elevated 
26 



302 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

grounds upon wliicli Prince Bladud is reported to have tended 
swine, when an exile from his father's court in consequence of 
being afflicted with leprosy, while a little to the south of them is 
a valley of great beauty, with a secluded village nestling in its 
bosom, whose romantic little church, ivy-crowned, is the charm 
of the place and the resort of the sketcher and tourist. Turning 
again to the north, the eye runs over the gay city, resting for an 
instant on its spires, its parks, its crescents, and its sinuous streets, 
and follows on until it meets a tall, ungainly, tower-like edifice, 
on the summit of Lansdowne Hill, erected by the celebrated author 
of ^' Yathek," William Beckford, during his residence at Bath, for 
the purpose of commanding an extended prospect of the adjacent 
country. At a distance, it has a clumsy appearance ; but when 
the beholder is near, it presents a handsome, bold front. Crom- 
well fought one of his most desperate and successful actions on 
Lansdowne Heights, and guides pretend to point out to the stranger 
the grounds on which the rival armies were posted. 

The western view is intercepted by highlands ; but on a clear 
day the city of Bristol can be seen from the summit of Beachy 
cliff, the site of observation. The Avon winds its serpentine 
course through the verdant valley, like a ribbon of silver, and is 
lost at last in the blue distance. The grand Victoria Park, with 
its lion-guarded gateways and tall granite obelisk, its fine walks, 
and noble trees, and pedestrian throng, gives a semi-rural, semi- 
civic aspect to the west of the city. 

During my stay, government opened an office there from which 
were issued grants of land in Australia to those who wished to 
emigrate to that distant colony, provided they fulfilled the require- 
ments of the law. A large collection of people was assembled in 
front of the place where applications were received, and there was 
many a careworn face in the throng. Some of the people were 
evidently above the laboring class, and had seen better days ; but 
stern necessity had decided them to seek a home beyond the land 
of their nativity, and with timidity and blushing faces they were 
seeking the only available means by which they could be con- 
veyed, voluntary transports, to an island tens of thousands of 
miles away in the far Southern Ocean. From the countenances 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 303 

of a large portion of those wbo composed the assemblage, it was 
evident that they wished to go, yet feared they would be success- 
ful applicants. Home, although wretched, was still home to 
them, and as they stood waiting to learn their fate, woe was heavy 
at their hearts, because they dreaded to be separated from old 
England — the scene alike of their pleasures and misery. 

One family of genteel appearance, consisting of parents, a son 
and two daughters, interested me much. The father went into 
the office to gain some information relative to his application for 
the grant, while the others remained in the street. During his 
absence, the little band consulted in a low and sorrowful tone, 
turning anxious looks occasionally in the direction they expected 
their protector to return. I could not understand why the whole 
family was present, unless the government required them to be, 
and not wishing to break in upon the sanctity of the consultation, 
stood, unobserved, at a short distance, a quiet spectator of the 
scene. The father at last made his appearance, with an expres- 
sion of countenance in which hope and regret were predominant. 
As he approached the group, there was silence deep — a silence of 
expectation — and 

*' Eacli held Ms breath for a time !" 

I watched their faces attentively. The surface exhibited clearly 
the conflicting feelings within the breast, but no questions were 
asked. The parent faltered out, " I have it !" when they clung to 
each other and wept audibly. The aged mother trembled with 
grief, and the tears coursed silently down the manly faces of the 
father and son. The scene was affecting, but scarcely remarked 
by others besides myself. The sorrows of the family were their 
own, and the gush from the fountains of pent up suffering gave 
relief. They slowly left the spot after the violence of the out- 
burst had subsided, to prepare for voluntary transportation from 
the land of their birthright, because they could no longer gain 
a livelihood in it. ''Mcrrie England" is not now to thousands of 
her children what she was in bygone times ; in the days when 
those who desired work could have it, and the honest man wanted 
not bread ! Competition has made the selfish more selfish, and 



804 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

tbe dependent but little better than slaves; and therefore, when 
adversity overtakes a man, and he loses his employment, his neces- 
sities oblige him to seek a home in that land where his labor will 
afibrd him a living and comparative independence. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A COACHMAN INCIDENTS ON THE ROAD — WELLS — ITS PALACE 

AND CATHEDRAL GLASTONBURY ABBEY — SEDGEMOOR A 

SATURDAY NIGHT IN AN INN — MONMOUTH's REBELLION. 

A NOBLE stage-coach, drawn by four fine horses, was driven up 
to the house of mine host, the second afternoon after my arrival in 
Bath, and as I had engaged a seat upon it for Wells, a distance 
of twenty miles, I mounted to the box, but was not there more 
than two minutes, when an impudent-looking fellow accosted me 
with an obsequious touch of his hat, and hoped that I would re- 
member him for keeping the box seat for me. 

^^Did I authorize you to keep it?" 

" No, sir ! but we al'ays gets something from gentlemen what 
wants it.^' 

^' You have no claim on me. I did not employ you, and there- 
fore have nothing to pay. If you are a beggar, and want a six- 
pence, I'll give you one; but I will not submit to extortion.'' 

I soon found it useless to resist the claim, as my fellow-passen- 
gers began to regard me with evident disrespect, taking for granted 
that I was mean, because of my non-compliance with the modest 
request of my determined dun, who stood his ground manfully, 
fully bent upon filching from me at least one sixpence. 

I threw the extortioner the coin, and thought no more of the 
incident. But not so my companions. They did not think favor- 
ably of me, because of my refusal to pay the demand at first, and 
by them I had been weighed and found wanting, as their looks 
clearly testified. We commenced our journey in silence, ascend- 



OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 305 

ing the bold hill to the south of the city without exchanging a 
word. Taciturnity is characteristic of the English when among 
strangerS; and a chilling coldness was preserved on this occasion 
for some miles. The first hour was dull, only a few venturing to 
exchange words, and those monosyllables. None addressed me 
until I entered into conversation with the driver, who was a 
thorough gentleman, and an intelligent, agreeable man. The 
road was hilly, but smooth and easy of travel, and as we were 
drawn along rapidly by our spirited anim^als, some romantic 
scenery met our view. I never met a more accomplished whip, 
nor one who managed horses so skilfully. He and I became ex- 
tremely sociable ; the company caught the feelings, and relaxed 
their sternness, exhibiting considerable surprise at what they were 
pleased to call my " remarkable knowledge'' of the country. I 
knew we were traversing a part of the island through which the 
famous Roman Fosse lies, and asked the driver to point out that 
celebrated way, which he did. I could distinctly trace it for con- 
siderable distance ahead, and followed in its course for several 
miles, as it forms a part of the turnpike road between Bath and 
Wells at this period. It is much narrower than the modern high- 
ways of England, but solid, and bears evidence of the skilful and 
compact manner of its construction. Two thousand years have 
passed since the Roman conquerors laid it out, and it is a re- 
markable fact that, although it was located that many years 
ago, and at a time when the geography of the country was imper- 
fectly known, it is the direct route from Lincolnshire to the sea- 
coast of Devonshire. It is crossed by the Watling Street of the 
Romans near Bath, and both roads are public highways to this 
day. These are two of the many great works of a people who 
were all powerful in Britain, anterior to the English, and speak 
volumes for the antiquity of the country, as well as the intelli- 
gence of those who constructed the roads. 

We pursued our way pleasantly for the balance of the journey, 
and, although some of the company maintained silence, I enjoyed 
the discourse of the gentlemanly driver with feelings of entire 
satisfaction. No object of note on the route escaped his eye, and he 
pointed out to me, long before we reached them, the blue outline 

2G* 



306 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

of tlie IMendip IlillS; and afterwards, when we passed over them, 
directed mj attention to the villages and coal-pits for which they 
are faiuous. The afternoon was delightful; the trees clothed in 
autumn's livery, the fields shorn of grain, and a light hazy veil 
hanging softly over the earth. There was a dreamy influence in 
the atmosphere that affected all, and while the taciturn ruminated, 
the talkative expressed themselves in appropriate language without 
an effort; easy, calmly, and to the point. 

We passed several extensive coal-mines, and met numerous 
workmen ; the most of whom were grimy with the dust of bitu- 
men, and dull and besotted in appearance. Carts heavily laden 
with the black fuel, rolled by, drawn by half-starved donkeys, 
some of which were not more than three feet high, wretched, 
shrivelled beasts, not fit to labor. The villages were anything 
but cheerful, and the colliers whom we met were in character 
with the uncomfortable aspect of the cottages. In all my rambles 
in England, and I was in nearly every county in it, the most 
ignorant and stultified people I met were those engaged in the 
collieries. The nature of their employment forbids the idea of 
their being elevated in soul, or refined in manners, and they plod 
through this earthly existence without an aspiration to be released 
from their eternal drudgery and debasing calling ; a calling of 
servitude compared with which the hardest labor required of the 
swarthy slave is play ; and then they receive a mere pittance 
for their toil in a sunless, underground cell, where the light of day 
never beams. 

Every county in England has its peculiarities. In Somerset- 
shire, the farmers remove the bristles from the hogs by a quick 
fire of shavings or straw, and the hide of the porker is left black 
with smoke, and sometimes burnt to a crisp. It was the season 
for killing, and country people were taking bacon to market in 
the condition in which it is left after undergoing the process 
described. 

Another custom, worthy of remark, is the way certain teamsters 
drag the wheels of their carts, to which two donkeys are attached, 
when descending a steep hill. When at the edge of the hill 
one of the animals is put to the jear of the van, and as it moves 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 807 

down the poor brute braces liimself on all-fours, and thus acts as 
a clog to the wheels and prevents a too rapid descent. The 
donkeys are well aware of what is required of them, and perform 
their duty with singular dexterity. 

We made a short stay at Shepton IMallett, a town famous for 
the part some of its inhabitants took in the rebellion of the 
elegant but unfortunate Duke of Monmouth. The main street is 
long, narrow, and compactly built — the houses are old-fashioned 
— the church large and weatherworn, and the market-cross, which 
stands in a space near the centre of the town, a fine specimen of 
that kind of edifice, being octagonal in form, with arches spring- 
ing from square pillars and a shaft rising above the roof. It is a 
fine structure, and the great centre of excitement on market- 
days. The famous Jefi'ries held a court at Shepton Mallett, while 
making his " bloody tour'' of the west, and several of the parti- 
cipants in Monmouth's ill-contrived rebellion perished at the 
town-cross on the occasion of the legal murderer's visit, for their 
attachment to the cowardly duke. 

Our ride to Wells after leaving Shepton was the most agreeable 
part of the journey. The scenery between those places is unsur- 
passed by any it was my lot to behold in England. The road 
lay along the edge of a picturesque hill; the Mendip Hills on our 
right, before us the towers of the cathedral, and the quiet city; 
and away in the distance the commanding form of Tor Hill at 
Glastoubur}^, with the square tower of St. Michael's ruined 
(jhurch on the very summit. The dim twilight of an autumnal 
day settled slowly down, and mellowed the outlines of the hills to 
a faint mark by the time we entered the little city. Our road 
lay along-side the old cathedral, and we soon dashed past it 
through one of the ancient gates into the main street and on to 
our destined inn. I was directed to a comfortable hotel, and, as 
the weather was keen and chilly, found my way to the parlor, 
kicked my boots off before the fire, stirred the coals, and sat down 
as independent as a lord. A good supper was promptly served, 
and being joined by a gentleman who was a sociable companion, 
I passed the evening in pleasant conversation and agreeable 
quarters. 



308 

The city of Wells is clean, neat, and like a burnished gem 
when contrasted with the dingy towns of the north. Clear 
gurgling waters flow musically along its gutters, and the liquid 
is so pure and crystal that none would object to abate his thirst 
with it. The streets are clean; the market-cross chaste and 
graceful, there being a fountain of '' living water" gushing ever 
from its secret well; and the market-square old and quaint — its 
sides being lined with houses in the Elizabethan style, whose 
projecting gables and oriel windows give an air of antiquity to 
the place. Two gates with buttresses and turrets stand at the 
eastern end of the inclosure, one of which conducts to the famous 
cathedral, the other to the bishop's palace. 

The residence of the present prelate is a modern structure of 
considerable beauty, within the ruins of the dwelling of the 
ecclesiastical functionaries of the Church of Kome. A battle- 
mented wall, gray with age and covered with ivy, incloses both 
the old and the new palace, around which is a moat about thirty 
feet wide, filled with clear, crystal, running water. Towers 
ornament the angles of the inclosure — and a stern old gateway 
flanked with projecting bastions, protected by a drawbridge raised 
by massive chains; and a formidable-looking portcullis within the 
arch speaks plainly to the modern visitor of the days of old, when 
pennons floated from the towers, and warrior-knights with armed 
attendants asked food and shelter of the dwellers within. Seven 
acres are inclosed by the walls, nearly all of which ground is laid 
out in gardens and gay parterres. The ruins are noble in their 
decay, curtained by the branches of trees and luxuriant ivy. A 
mound runs around the inner side of the extended wall, forming 
a magnificent promenade along the frowning battlements. The 
corner towers are tastefully fitted up with seats, and the perennial, 
ruin-haunting vine clambers in gay festoons over the indented 
walls, forming rich curtains under which young lovers may sit 
and hear the waters in the moat gurgling and murmuring along 
from the holy well of St. Andrew's. The chapel is the greatest 
attraction of the modern palace, and really superb. A coifsider- 
able portion of the old edifice remains in partial ruin ; the main 
hall, in which the last abbot of Glastonbury was tried in 1540 for 



309 

resisting the king's authority, being the most entire. The victim 
of Hcnr3''s power was hung, drawn, and quartered on Tor Hill 
immediately after his conviction, and his terrible fate tinges with 
romance the hall alluded to. 

I noticed among the garden-trees specimens of the black wal- 
nut, silver maple, tulip-poplar, and rich magnolia of my native 
land, growing in close proximity to a thorn from Palestine, said 
to be a sprout from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea. The story 
goes that the apostle, on his arrival in England, rested with his 
followers the first night on a promontory near the southern coast 
of the island, which he called Weary-all-hill, into the soil of which 
he thrust his cane, which immediately took root, and continues 
to put forth blossoms ever since on Christmas day. The romance 
may please children, and, as the sprouts of the fabulous original 
still bloom in December, the idle tale may be believed by the 
devout and misguided; but the naturalist will smile at the story; 
and as the thorn of Palestine is a hardy plant, and the climato 
of Somerset is remarkably mild in winter, the blossoming is easily 
accounted for to the satisfaction of the unprejudiced and non- 
superstitious. 

The splendid cathedral of Wells is regarded by many architects 
as a work of surpassing elegance and beauty of finish, and is 
assuredly grand. The interior was restored in 1851, and no 
similar ancient edifice in England will compare favorably with it 
at present. Every corner and portion of the beautiful nave, 
choir, and lady-chapel is now as it was three hundred years ago, 
so far as appearance is concerned; and the clear stone, foliated 
capitals, splendid groining of the ceilings, clustered columns, tri- 
forium, decorated.stalls of the prebendaries, and every other part 
of the interior are as rich and bright as if just from the stone- 
cutter's hand. I have seen many of the old cathedrals ; but of 
all, grand and imposing though they are, there is not one — not 
even that majestic monument of architectural elegance, York 
Minster — that has so much richness about it as Wells Cathedral. 
York is more impressive, more soaring, and awe-inspiring; while 
that of Wells is more ornate, more gorgeous, more elaborate. 
When standing at the west end of the nave, and looking east, the 
whole beauty of the magnificent interior bursts upon the delighted 



310 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

gaze. The long perspective, the lofty roof, the bold triforium, 
the string courses and rich moulding, the carvings and foliated 
ornaments, the groining and the bosses, the mellowed light that 
hallows the fane — all give the edifice an appearance of grandeur 
and solemnity seldom seen in similar structures. The columns 
are clustered, the capitals of various designs — there being birds, 
human faces, animals, and foliage among the ornaments of each 
bell, and the corbels which support the vaulting-shafts that sus- 
tain the nave. Under the central tower are buttresses in the 
form of inverted arches erected for the purpose of strengthening 
the massive pile, and although they mar, to a certain extent, the 
bold spring of the lofty curve, still they are beautiful and singular. 
The lady-chapel is sublimely ornamented and gorgeous in the ex- 
treme. The fretted roof is emblazoned with gold, scarlet, and 
azure ; the floor inlaid with encaustic tiles ; the windows glazed 
with glass of the most brilliant hue and color ; and the vault sup- 
ported by clustered shafts and lancet arches. Stand where you 
may to gaze, the eye is feasted with grandeur, and the soul refined 
by beauty. Nor is the lady-chapel alone in its elegance. The 
choir is equally gorgeous, and the chapter-house is but little less 
sublime than its sister departments. A single, slender shaft 
springs from the centre, and spreads in the most delicate fan 
tracery at the roof, the ribbings of which radiate from the main 
column, and vault to the corresponding mouldings which rise from 
the side walls. The approach to this part of the cathedral is by 
a grand geometrical staircase, the angles of which please the be- 
holder. The crypt contains a few cofiius of Norman knights, and 
several relics of the early bishops of Wells; and at the south side 
of the vestibule, is the shrine of a distinguished Catholic digni- 
tary of the olden time. The modern monuments are few, and 
those are in the main building, the cloisters being reserved for 
burial-places, a wise use of them, as they are better adapted to the 
purpose than the nave or body of a cathedral in which service is 
performed. The finest piece of sculpture is in the chapel, near 
the choir. It is one of Chantrey's best works, and merits its posi- 
tion in one of the great temples of the past. I often stood, 
in admiration, before the splendid productions of the chisel which 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 311 

adorn the shrines of England; and frequently, at such times, a 
drawling, simpering parson, who had received divinity into his 
form from the finger-ends of a bishop, commenced chanting, in 
dull, long-drawn strains, the service of the church; and while 
thus gazing, musing, and hearing, I thought what fool can be- 
lieve such dolts as he inspired, because a mortal, assuming holi- 
ness, has declared him so by the laying on of hands, and, at the 
same time, condemn the ancient Greeks, wondering why they con- 
sidered the splendid figures, from the hand of Phidias, the temples 
of Gods ! Who would not sooner believe the glorious form of the 
Apollo Belvidere the dwelling of a divinity, than the decaying 
body of a mortal ! 

Among the tombs in the cloisters, is that of the wife of Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan. It is placed in the east wall of the eastern 
avenue, and contains a long inscription to her memory. The 
reader will recollect that she was a Miss Linley, and an actress of 
some celebrity. From the record, I judge she was a native, or at 
least a resident of Wells, as the grave in which she rests is the 
same in which repose the remains of her mother and other rela- 
tives. 

There are several curious ornaments on the capitals of the col- 
umns, in the south transept, not the least amusing of which is a 
series of groups representing two boys stealing apples, their ar- 
rest by two men, condemnation by a magistrate, and punishment. 
On others are a woman with the toothache — a man whistling with 
might and main — a cobbler repairing shoes, and a boy extracting 
a thorn from his foot. It is these things, so admirably sculptured, 
and the sharp, foliated carvings and mouldings of the clustered 
columns, and other sections of AVells Cathedral, that make it so 
grand and imposing, now that it is thoroughly restored. There is 
a wonderful clock in the wall of the northern transept. It was 
made by a monk, at Glastonbury Abbey, in 1322, and removed 
to its present location at the dissolution of that monastery. It is 
a very ingenious piece of mechanism, formed of brass and iron — 
proclaims the hours, strikes the quarters, and gives the age of the 
moon. Above the dial-plate, in the transept (for there are two 
dials, one outside the building, and one in), is a platform, around 



312 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

which figures of mounted knights dash at a furious rate when set 
in motion, with lances poised at each other. Their movements 
convey a tolerable idea of an ancient tournament. There is a male 
figure connected with the clock, which strikes a bell with its heels 
every fifteen minutes; while, on the external side of the same 
wall, and moved by the same machinery, are two mailed knights 
on foot, armed with swords and shields, who strike the fractions 
of the hour with their swords on each other's buckler. The ex- 
terior of the cathedral is quite as ornate as the interior; but its 
dingy color, and in some cases saintless niches, do not compare 
with the internal portions. The front buttresses are embellished 
with numerous figures of kings, knights in armor, saints, apostles, 
abbesses, and bishops, some of which are nine feet high, and 
tolerably perfect. The drapery is very fine, and exhibits great 
skill in the sculptor. The edifice stands in an open space, and is 
seen to the greatest advantage from the west, or from the adjacent 
hills, from which a fine panorama is presented. 

A visit to Glastonbury is considered a duty by the temporary 
sojourner at Wells, and as the distance is but six miles, I walked 
through the valley to the town and abbey of that name. The 
lands between the two places are low and swampy, but carefully 
drained and cultivated; large quantities of apples are raised, and 
considerable cider made. The rustic population speak a language 
difi"erent from that of the same class at the north, and although 
their pronunciation is not so broad, still it is almost as hard to 
comprehend. Grlastonbury is small, but interesting to the Christ- 
ian if the traditions connected with it are true. It is the reputed 
landing-place in Britain of one of the Saviour's apostles, Joseph 
of Arimathea, and the spot on which he planted the first Christian 
church founded in England, and whence the light of Christianity 
spread over the island. The ruins of the abbey are meagre, but 
there is sufficient left to impress the beholder with the extent of 
the building when entire. The nave is the most perfect part 
remaining, but time has dealt harshly with it, and only one side 
wall remains. The style of architecture is Norman, and the 
string courses, hood moulding of the doors and windows are in 
excellent preservation. Between the nave and choir are several 



OR, AVANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 313 

steps which mark the division of the two sections. There is a 
chapel named after the apostle, within the crypt of which is a well 
of pure water called holy. A thorn-tree grows in the yard or 
garden, and as it is a sprout from the staiF of Joseph, it is pre- 
served with great care. The abbey was once the residence of St. 
Patrick, and tradition says that he was the presiding officer at one 
time. The old hostelries where pilgrims took up their abode 
when at Grlastonbury still exist as taverns or inns, and the wine 
vaults and kitchens prove that the faithful had an eye to the 
comforts of the body as well as the salvation of the soul. The 
Church of St. Benedict is said to be the oldest place of Christian 
worship now in England, having been erected shortly after the 
founding of the abbey. It has undergone frequent repairs, and 
retains but little of its original form or the materials first used in 
its construction. The remains of St. Michael's Church, on the Tor 
Hill, are conspicuous for miles around. The tower of the building 
is bold and strong, and can be seen from nearly every part of 
Somersetshire in clear weather. The original church is repre- 
sented to have been founded by the apostle named, but the pre- 
sent structure bears evident marks of an architecture unknown 
before the twelfth century. The last abbot of Glastonbury and two 
monks were hung on the hill along-side of the sacred ruin in 1540, 
and their bodies drawn and quartered as a terror to others of the 
rosary and cowl. The head of the first named was placed on a 
pole in the tower, and his body hung in four equal parts on the 
walls of as many neighboring towns. 

The hill takes in a fine view extending westward to the sea, 
and northward to the Mendip range and the city of Wells. The 
gloomy field of Sedgemoor is in full view, and its dark surface is 
a fit pall for the dead who slumber in its bosom. The last actual 
battle on English ground was fought there, and there many a 
brave follower of the cowardly and courtly Duke of Monmouth 
found a grave. The land is intersected now by farms and roads, 
but it still retains some of the peculiarities from which it is not 
inaptly named. 

The principal towns in Somersetshire are noted for the trials 
held in them by the brutal Jeffries during his murderous judicial 
27 



314 

tour following the defeat at Sedgemoor. Wells was one of his 
places of sojourn, and a gentleman, resident in the city, pointed 
out to me the site of the court-house in which the wretch perpe- 
trated much of his villany, and, in the name of justice, com- 
mitted his atrocious outrages against the blindly infatuated dupes 
of the favorite son of Charles the Second. The older rustic 
families of the county cherish to this period a hatred for the name 
of the legal hero, and shower down on his crime-stained soul 
anathemas for the persecutions he waged against their unfortunate 
ancestors. 

A traveller finds much amusement at times in the mixed com- 
pany which congregates around the bright fire in the parlor of an 
English inn ; and no place is better calculated for observation of 
English character than one of those rooms when occupied by a 
fair amount of company. I spent a pleasant Saturday evening at 
Wells with the gentlemen assembled in the social hall of mine 
host, and among other subjects our conversation turned upon 
America. The portly, ruddy-faced islanders sipped their liquor 
with cheerfulness, and grew entertaining as the night advanced 
and the ale enlivened. Some of those present were anxious to 
know whether the servants in the United States really do eat at 
the same table and at the same time with their employers ? Is 
New York as large as London ? How soon will you abolish 
slavery, and how do you manage without a state church ? Do 
the people speak English, and how do they get well without doc- 
tors when they live so far apart as many of them do at the west ? 

And then it was laughable to hear their opinions respecting 
our morals and intelligence. I chuckled at their nonsense and 
ignorance frequently. Some thought us as bad as the savages of 
the forest, and quite as rude and illiterate. Their ideas of the 
country were intimately connected with steamboat explosions, 
Bowie knives, and Colt's revolvers. They seemed to think that 
every man of us goes armed, and ready, on the instant, to commit 
murder. When I gave them some information respecting our 
large cities, they looked unbelievingly at me, and evidently 
doubted my words. I was a vara avis among them, and regarded 
with curiosity, for some of them never saw a live Yankee before 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 315 

they saw me, and viewed the animal with wonder. I found them 
a gentlemanly set of men, however, and could not have passed my 
time more to my satisfaction than in their company. The room 
was filled with a cloud of smoke, and each person had either a 
glass of gin and hot water, or ale, and long pipe, supplied with 
adulterated tobacco. Each paid for what he drank, and none con- 
sidered it a mark of disrespect to a friend, or meanness in himself, 
to call for a pipe, or liquor, and not invite others to join him, it 
being the custom of the country for each individual to pay for his 
own drink. To me there was an appearance of sordidness in the 
habit of pushing out two or three pennies for a glass of gin far from 
creditable or worthy of imitation. And drinking hot water in 
their liquor did not strike me as in character with the English 
rule of avoiding mixed food ! But certain people are over-par- 
ticular in some things, and not particular enough in others, and 
John Bull is eminently so. lie faints at the idea of eating fried 
ham, and yet swallows cheese and ale together before going to 
bed, and drinks sweetened gin and hot water with commendable 
national vanity, swearing by his troth there's naught so healthful. 
My companions of the evening were of different professions, 
including lawyers, commercial travellers, tradesmen, and farmers, 
most of whom were tolerably informed respecting their own county, 
but not so of other parts of England. The farmers — and when I 
speak of them I make no allusion whatever to the rustics, but 
confine myself entirely to what are known as gentlemen farmers, 
or renters of large tracts of land, which they cultivate by means 
of the peasantry — although gentlemen in dress, are the most 
ignorant, stupid set, who have pretensions to respectability and 
position, of any men I met in England; and of the many whom 
I came in contact with, there was but one who was a well-informed 
man, and he was originally a cutler at Shefiield. The balance 
were by no means refined. They were mostly hospitable, but 
not cultivated. 



316 THE FOOTPATH AND highway; 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FUN AND FOGS — SALISBURY AND ITS CATHEDRAL — A WALK TO 
STONEHENGE OVER SALISBURY PLAIN. 

Reader, bave you ever been in an English fog ? a real un- 
adulterated penetrator, that chills a man to the heart's core if he 
happens to be exposed to it for half an hour ? If ycu have not, 
then may you never be obliged to endure a ride of twenty- odd 
miles through one so dense as to prevent your seeing ten feet 
ahead of the four horses attached to the stage-coach. To look at 
the bleared sun through the misty veil, from a cheerful parlor 
window, does very well, and you may derive an inward delight in 
trying to trace from such a point of sight the dim outline of the 
houses on the opposite side of the street, or the phantom-like 
figures of the almost invisible creatures who pass before you ; but 
to grope your way, or ride through, it is enduring, and not alone 
seeing. The walk is not so bad as the ride, for in that you navi- 
gate yourself, and roll along like a ship in a veil of mist at sea, 
and when a fellow-mortal heaves in sight, and you trace his out- 
line through the vapor, you shape your course to steer clear of 
him, and in nautical phrase ^' give him a wide berth." You see 
a gas-light occasionally to cheer you, its dull rays glimmering like 
a beacon on a dreary cliflF to guide the lonely mariner, and if you 
choose you can come to anchor along-side a shop-window, or the 
door of a chop-house, where you can recruit your energies, make 
observations, get your latitude and longitude, and renew your 
journey with a prospect of completing it satisfactorily. But the 
ride is a different thiog ; muffled up on a stage-coach and en- 
veloped by fog, you soon become chilled and cheerless. You look 
at your neighbors, and see their hair and whiskers white with ac- 
cumulating frost ; each one is as cold and comfortless as yourself, 
and the keen air cuts your face with its damp breath as you move 



OR, V/ANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 317 

tlirougli it. The houses are moving phantoms; there's no sky; 
no road ; no sun; no fence ; no houses ; no fields; nothing but 
fog, thick and impenetrable. When you come to a hill, the driver 
tells you to hold on and not be alarmed, for the stage may escape 
being upset by a special Providence, but the chances are in favor 
of going over. You are going; but where to is the question. To 
upset? Yes, just as likely as not. But you escape that, and 
thump your feet on the footboard to get them warm, and put 
3^our blood in circulation, until you are tired; and then you pro- 
bably will try to see the beauties of the charming country through 
which you are passing so agreeably. Yes ! magnificent landscape 
it is, too! All fog-banks; all so beautifully misty; so admirably 
obscured ; so dreamy ; so like Melville Island, Spitzbergen, or 
some other equally splendid northern land of fairies and fogs ! 
You enjoy it so, and, if blest with a happy imagination, you can 
build such airy castles, and have so much material to form them 
of, all ready to your mind. The cottages, the parks, the man- 
sions are all before you, and all totally beyond your vision, but 
still before you; and decorate them to your own satisfaction, in 
such colors as your fancy may supply. But while you are thinking 
of these things, something goes wrong, and a reality surely enough 
rouses you to cold matter-of-fact things. What 's up now ? O, 
only run into the fence ; soon all will be right. You don't like 
the idea of backing out while on the coach, and descend until the 
horses are extricated. They are speedily put into the road ; you 
mount again, and start, but do not get far on your journey before 
the driver " believes that the horses have been turned completely 
round, and we are going back again. '^ Here's a pretty mess, 
indeed. Don't know where you are. The whip swears ; the pas- 
sengers don't pray; but the stage does stand still, and what's to 
be done ? comes from every mouth. Gro back and see whether 
the coach really was turned ; you can tell by the marks of the 
wheels in the road. Away goes the driver, and with him a pas- 
senger, to learn the truth. They soon return out of breath, de- 
clare we are wrong, turn the horses, and pursue the journey. 
After considerable trouble, a good deal of grumbling, and a tho- 
rough chilling, you at last reach your destination, fully satisfied 

27* 



818 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

with your ride iu the fog, and pretty sure you won't readily forget 
it. My return trip from Wells to Bath was nearly as above 
described, and when I reached the city of warm springs, I was 
shaking like an ague patient. A good fire soon made me com- 
fortable, and I once more mounted on the top of a stage-coach, 
but not for Wells. The sun had by this time conquered the fog ; 
the landscape was gay, and my companions good fellows. There 
were five of us, with the driver ; and we were as merry a set of 
wanderers as ever sailed over the sea, or climbed a high hill. One 
was an Englishman, who had been in Russia ; another a Scottish 
gentleman, connected with the Oriental Steamship Company, who 
had been wrecked in the Indian Ocean, crossed the deserts of 
Arabia, stood on the pyramid of Cheops, and traversed the 
mighty Ganges ; the other had been in Rome and Venice ; and I 
could tell of the Mississippi, Niagara Falls, the great lakes, and 
the boundless prairies of the west. We made a glorious com- 
pany, and right merrily did the hours and miles go past together 
as we dashed over Salisbury Plain and on to the city of New 
Sarum. 

Our ride, after leaving Bath, was through a greatly diversified 
country', and along a most beautiful little valley, through which 
wound two canals and a small, transparent stream. As we pro- 
gressed further to the south, the country became level and chalky, 
chalk being the main geological feature of the famous Salisbury 
Plain. The villages on the route were small, but clean ; and the 
town of Warminster, where we made an hour's stay, presented 
great activity and bustle. It was a fair day, and the market- 
space was filled with rustic humanity and Wiltshire cheese. The 
usual amusements attendant upon a country fair in England were 
to be found in the town, and every species of bufi"oonery was going 
forward, from Punch-and- Judy shows to negro serenaders ; can- 
vas tents were numerous, and men stood at the entrance to each, 
proclaiming, in loud voices, the merits of the respective exhibi- 
tions. One establishment contained wax figures of the royal 
family, and the walking and talking advertisement was trying to 
persuade the public to go in and see ^' 'Er Majesty and the Prince 
of Wales, for sixpence.'' Another was an itinerant circus, and 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 819 

the clown, with his deathly pallid face, stood on a raised platform 
outside the doors, pleading to the crowd to patronize the wonder- 
ful performances within. One was a theatre, one a menagerie, 
and one the dwelling of a seer, where '-'■ young ladies were shown 
the faces of their future husbands. ^^ Nor were these all. There 
were booths for the sale of every description of trumpery wares, 
and stands from which auctioneers were disposing of their goods. 
Two of the sons of the hammer amused me much. They both 
dealt in clothes, and as they were on opposite sides of the street, 
facing each other, they entertained the bystanders with a choice se- 
lection of doubtful compliments to themselves, and extravagant 
stories respecting the articles they had for sale. ^' Ere 's a splendid 
waistcoat; cost me six shillings; sell it for eighteen pence; fit 
for Prince Halbert's wear; let me show you how it will fit; made 
in the best style ; excellent goods ; I'll take one shilling — one 
shilling only; five goold buttons, and all for one shilling; buy it 
for a wedding-vest, young man — I know you'll marry that lass 
soon;" and he turned his head towards a silly clown, nearby, who 
was standing along-side a rosy-faced, coarse-looking country girl. 
The salesman threw his own coat and vest off, put on the one he 
had to sell, and talked like an exhorting parson. The fellow on 
the other side of the street was not one whit behind his antagonist, 
and they soon fell abusing each other roundly. " The buttons is 
brass; don't buy that thing; 'ore's yer waistcoat, young man; 
this 'ore's yer wedding waistcoat ; only nine pence ;" and they 
almost frightened the clown out of his senses, with their appeals 
to buy. The maiden's face was like a full moon, and the poor 
girl did not know which way to look. Her ^^ sweetheart" was 
dumfounded, and wondered how they found out he was about to 
be married. The mob laughed and shouted; the auctioneers 
abused each other more and more ; the rustics were ready to cry, 
and in the midst of the confusion, the band of one of the exhibi- 
tions — a drum, cymbal, and fife — broke forth with its thunders, 
and caused me to think " chaos had come again." My compa- 
nions and self roared with laughter at the scene ; and after look- 
ing at the mounds of cheese, the rosy-faced maidens, the motley 
crowd, and the old town, we ascended to our seats on the stage, 



820 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGIIAVAY ; 

and pursued our way. The country now became level ; the earth 
was white, and flocks of sheep, attended by shepherds, cropped the 
scanty herbage of the plain. We stopped a few nainutes at the 
town of Wilton, famous for its rich carpets, gorgeous church, and 
for being the seat of the Earls of Pembroke, where Sir Philip 
Sidney wrote his " Arcadia;" and as the sunlight faded out and the 
stars began to twinkle in the sky, we arrived at Salisbury, and 
passing its brave old cathedral, moved on to our hotel, where I 
parted with my pleasant companions, they going to Southampton, 
and I remaining in New Sarum. 

The stranger who visits cathedral towns must have his atten- 
tion occupied chiefly in the inspection of the noble edifices for 
which they are famous; and, as nearly all these buildings are 
grand and beautiful to behold, he finds in each and every one 
something to admire peculiar to itself. They are difi'erently con- 
structed, diff"erently ornamented, difi'erently located, and however 
much frequent allusion to them may annoy the reader, the be- 
holder seldom tires of their many places of interest and splendor, 
aside from their architectural merits. They are mostly the burial- 
places of the distinguished and remarkable, and abound in monu- 
ments, ancient and modern, some of which are triumphs of art. 
It is quite probable that the cathedrals of England contain more 
masterpieces of the chisel than the public galleries of the land; 
and the student of sculpture will find in these noble structures the 
finest productions of Roubiliac, Chantrey, Bacon, Bailey, and 
others equally distinguished, and works of elegance and perfection 
unknown outside the transepts and aisles in which they are placed. 
Not only cathedrals, but village and hamlet churches boast splendid 
statuary; and the marble figures in those places oftener contribute 
to elevate and refine the soul than the rounded periods and classic 
compositions of the clergymen who officiate in them. The cathe- 
dral of Salisbury contains some fine ancient monuments as well 
as modern, the most remarkable being those of knights and 
warriors, the greater number of which are in the nave. There arc 
figures of crusaders, in excellent preservation, among which is one 
to the memory of a warrior who fell in the Holy Land, and was 
buried at Acre; and a highly ornamented altar-tomb of wood. 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 321 

supporting a stone effigy of the Earl of Shrewsbury, the son of 
Fair Rosamond and Henry the Second, who died in 1226 ; and 
in stern repose, on another tomb, in the same section of the build- 
ing, lies the full-length figure of an armed knight who was stand- 
ard-bearer at Bosworth field. There are two marble skeletons, 
over as many tombs, each of which was erected to the memory of 
a bishop, who, in endeavoring to fast forty days, in imitation of 
our Saviour, starved to death in the pious and laudable attempt! 
The charnel aspect of the figures makes the gazers shudder with 
horror, and pity the fools who thus committed self-murder. There 
is a very highly ornamented monument in the lady-chapel to 
the Earl and Countess of Somerset. She was Lady Catharine, 
sister to Lady Jane Grey, and grand-niece to Henry the Eighth ; 
and to mark her rank, her tomb is raised several inches above that 
of her husband. Among the other monuments, is one to the 
"boy bishop" of the cathedral. In the days of the Catholic su- 
premacy in England, it was customary, in certain parts, for the 
boys connected with the cathedrals to elect one of their number 
bishop over themselves for the month, for which time the juvenile 
prelate wore the robes of office usual to the mature official; and if 
he died during his term, he was buried with all the ceremony usual 
on the occasion of the death of the real functionary. It seldom 
occurred that one of the cloister bishops died in office, but when 
such a thing did take place, the deceased was honored with a tomb 
of considerable elegance in the nave or aisles of the edifice. The 
one in Salisbury Cathedral is the most perfect of the kind in the 
country, and the boyish face and figure of the effigy in its long 
robes have a solemn appearance to the beholder. The verger and 
myself wandered among the tombs, and through the long perspec- 
tive aisles of the magnificent fane, he pointing out the objects 
most worthy of note, and I admiring that which was important 
and grand. In the south transept are several banners, from the 
Punjaub wars, waving over a monument erected by the "surviv- 
ing officers of the G2d regiment of Wiltshire Springers, to the 
memory of their companions in arms who fell in the Sikh war,'' 
and a singular memento to the services of a lieutenant who was 
killed at Moodkee in 1845. 



322 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

The cathedral is built entirely in one style of Gothic architec- 
ture, that of the thirteenth century; and its uniformity, both of 
proportions and style, renders it an exception to other English edi- 
fices of the same character. The whole aspect of the structure is 
grand, and, as a perfect work in one species of Gothic, is without 
a rival. It has double transepts, to the east of each of which is a 
side aisle; and the nave, transept, and choir rise into an elevation 
of three tiers. The columns of the nave are clustered, each com- 
posed of four pillars, with as many slender shafts. There is a 
clere-story, consisting of triple windows, of the lancet shape ; and 
the gallery, or second tier, which is the roof of the aisles, has 
pointed arches, ornamented alternately with quarter- foils and eight- 
leaved carved rosettes. The interior, although fine and imposing, 
is not either solemn or gorgeous; nor does it inspire one with awe 
or veneration. Its want of elaborate ornament causes it to be ad- 
mired for its simple grandeur and uniformity, like the chaste and 
plain temples of Greece. The harmony of its proportions, and 
consistency of architecture, have won for it the name of the 
" Queen of English Cathedrals f and, as a specimen of one style 
thoroughly carried out, it deserves the appellation, but when com- 
pared with York or Wells for sublimity and elaborate ornament, 
it suffers greatly by the comparison. The exterior is grand when 
viewed from a particular point of sight in the cloisters; and its 
many graceful angles and harmonious geometrical lines, its tall 
and cutting spire, and its immense form, receive the admiration 
of the beholder. The structure is surroifnded by a large inclosure, 
or close, planted with trees, and laid out in convenient walks and 
beautiful grass-plots. The spire is four hundred and eight feet 
high, having a greater altitude, by four feet, than the dome of St. 
Paul's, and is as sharp as an arrow, but, unfortunately, out of per- 
pendicular. The variation is twenty-four and a half inches south, 
and sixteen and a half west ; but, as no change has taken place in 
its position for two hundred years, there is every reason to believe 
that the settling has been permanently arrested. A stone, placed 
in the floor immediately under the spire, marks its deviation from 
perpendicular, and was put in its present position by Sir Christo- 
pher Wren, when he ascertained, by actual measurement, the 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 323 

variation of the structure. Observations subsequent to bis have 
been made, and at each it was satisfactorily learned that the spire 
maintains its position. 

The city of Salisbury is near one or two of the small streams, 
the waters of which are conducted through the town by means 
of sluices, and the purling liquid runs ceaselessly along the gut- 
ters of the principal streets. The buildings are mostly old, and 
not of much importance. The school in which Addison was 
educated is shown to the curious, but beyond the fact of its being 
his Alma Mater, it is without interest. 

Near Salisbury are the remains of the British city of Old 
Sarum, and several ancient Roman highways, besides the more 
modern ruins of Clarendon Palace. The mounds of Old Sarum 
are remarkable for their extent and antiquity, and although com- 
posed of chalkstone, and overgrown with grass, they are very high 
and strong to this day. Twenty-one acres are contained within 
the inner mound now remaining, and the fortifications are a mile 
around. At this period, not a vestige of its buildings is to be 
seen, and sheep, attended by shepherds as stolid as the clods upon 
which they tread, are the only inhabitants of the once royal city 
of Old Sarum. I procured an aged peasant for my guide, and 
visited the immense mounds, and now dry moats, and the site of 
its castle, and main edifices. The dwellings, like their occupants, 
have resolved into dust, and left no trace of their individual being. 
The page of history records some early traditions of the place, 
and the researches of the antiquary have revealed some few facts 
connected with the extent and importance of the ancient city, but 
they are mystified and obscured, and the dull, stupid shepherd is 
as likely to render positive information to the tourist of the place 
as the historian or antiquarian — each being quite as well informed 
as the other, though difiering in the quality and kind of their 
knowledge. 

The celebrated monument of antiquity, Stonehenge, is about 
nine miles from Salisbury, in the direction, but considerably north 
of Old Sarum, and when at the place last named, I determined 
to walk to the famous Druidical Temple. I was directed across 
the dreary downs, and pushed my way for a considerable distance. 



324 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

When thinking I had gained the vicinity of the object for which 
I sought, I made inquiry, and was coolly informed that I had 
been misdirected, and was several miles out of my way. I di- 
verged from the regular highway, and ascended the hills before me 
in the face of a stiff breeze, which bore upon its wings a drizzling 
rain ; and after a toilsome march, attained the summit, where I 
paused to survey the surrounding country; and the dreary wolds 
upon which I stood presented a scene of almost utter desolation. 
To the south, the bold form of Old Sarum and the sharp spire 
of Salisbury Cathedral burst upon my sight, and relieved the 
monotony of the prospect in that direction, while to the north 
stretched away the chalky downs with scarcely more than a dozen 
trees visible, and but a single house to cheer the eye. I heard 
human voices somewhere near me, but the rolling hills hid the 
speakers, and, after making a little search, I came up to a plough- 
man and a shepherd boy. I inquired for Stonehenge, and being 
directed to the spot, looked far to the north, and there, beyond a 
clump of trees, in the misty and shadowy distance, I traced the 
form of the renowned temple. The rain increased ; the object 
of my visit was full four miles off by the shortest route ', the land 
was, with but little exception, ploughed up, and the only animate 
objects visible were a few droves of sheep feeding on the distant 
plain, and the shepherds in attendance. I was assured that there 
were no " man-traps nor spring- guns'^ in the way, and that I 
would not be trespassing if I pursued a straight course to the 
circle across the farms, and it did not take me long to decide 
what to do. Here I stood within sight of the famous temple ; I 
had come thousands of miles to see it ; and, though the rain was 
driving fast against me, it would be foolishness to retrace my 
steps without gaining my point. — There is too much of the go-ahead 
spirit in me to be daunted by rain, and, buttoning my overcoat, 
and fixing my eye on some landmarks before me, I pushed on. 
For two miles there was nothing particularly attractive, and as the 
land over which I was passing was undulating, my view, for the 
distance mentioned, was circumscribed. At last I gained the 
elevated and level plain — level, compared with what I had so 
recently been on — and met several shepherds, but they were a 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 325 

harmless^ idle set — boorish in manners and stupidly ignorant. 
Each one was attended by a dog such as I have frequently seen in 
other sections of the country, and the faithful animal was in every 
case an object of greater interest to me than the shepherd. The 
man was dull and stupid— the dog intelligent and active -, the 
dog could do without the man, but I could not see that the man 
could get along without the dog. As I advanced towards my 
destination, I observed some mounds of earth so strongly resem- 
bling the tumuli of the Western States of America, that the 
similarity struck me as wonderful. The nearer I approached 
Stonehenge, the more numerous they became, and I began to 
reflect that too much attention had been bestowed by antiquaries 
upon the circle to the neglect of the other objects of interest 
around. May not these mounds be monuments of a people an- 
terior to the Druids of Stonehenge? And is not their resem- 
blance to the tumuli of the Western World evidence of the 
existence of a race of men, now extinct, who were contemporaneous 
in both hemispheres? These questions are not for me to answer, 
but the fact of human bones having been found in some of the 
mounds into which excavations have been made proves a resem- 
blance in more than one particular. 

I neared the temple rapidly, and soon stood within its shadow. 
The rain had greatly abated, and the high wind bore along a 
thick mist, much more agreeable than a drenching storm. The 
ponderous rocks afforded me protection from the blasts, and I sat 
down in solitude upon one of the fallen masses before surveying 
the mysterious circle — an erection that none have ever satisfac- 
torily accounted for, and about which antiquaries differ. The 
stones of which it is built are ninety-four in number, and of 
enormous size; some stand erect, and transverse blocks rest on 
the tops ; others are strewn over the ground in confusion, but the 
line of the circle is distinctly marked. There they are — those 
stupendous rocks — miles away on a dreary plain, where the largest 
native stone to be found will not exceed two pounds in weight; 
and then it is of chalk formation, while the great masses differ 
from it in every geological feature. They are solid, and have 
stood, unworn, facing the storms of centuries. Those I measured 
28 



326 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

are full twenty feet high, and one of tliem is seven feet wide and 
three feet eight inches thick. They were evidently carried to 
their present position by some powerful machinery, for it is barely 
possible that rocks weighing seventy tons each could have been 
transported for miles by the mere physical force of man, and the 
Druids are not known to have used any other power. What are 
they, and who placed them in their present situation? are ques- 
tions to which no satisfactory answers have ever been given, and 
there is but little reason to suppose that any persons will yet be 
able to account positively and accurately for them. They were, 
no doubt, at one period, a Druidical temple ; but that the Druids 
placed them where they now stand is altogether problematical. 
That class of men availed themselves of natural and artificial 
creations adapted to their purposes, and the fact that the altars of 
the sect in Wales were, for the greater part, mere flat stones 
prostrate upon the earth, is proof that they went to but little 
labor to build their shrines, even in countries where rocks were 
large and abundant; while the temple of Stonehenge owes its 
origin to great physical and mechanical exertion, and must have 
cost years in its construction. Located in the centre of a sterile, 
desolate plain, many miles from large quarries or deposits of stone, 
and in a country the geological formation of which is so different 
from the rocks of which it is built, the very existence of the 
circle in that spot proves what power was required to place it 
there ; and as the Druids were never guilty of performing any 
bard labor, it is no more than justice to acquit them of the charge 
of having erected the temple of Stonehenge. If they were the 
authors of it, they also raised the mounds before alluded to ; but 
as no similar tumuli are to be found in the vicinity of acknow- 
ledged Druidical temples, there is a further proof that Stone- 
henge is the work of a people anterior to the ancient Britons and 
murderous Druids. It stands alone in the centre of what was 
once a solitary waste, and what is but little else now, although 
the labor of centuries has been expended in its cultivation. A 
scanty herbage is produced for sheep-feeding, but the soil is not 
more than an inch deep, and the farmer is often repaid for his 
trouble of ploughing, by an abundant crop of chalk stones, so 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 327 

numerous as nearly to cover the earth's surface over Avhich his 
rule extends. I returned to Salisbury, as I went, on foot, but, 
instead of keeping the road, I struck a bee-line for the city over 
the downs, and in the walk of eight miles but a solitary house 
cheered the way. No trees — no crops — nothing but the leaden 
sky and the chalky earth — the scattered flocks and the lonely 
shepherds. It is true there were villages in the far distance, and 
on the edge of the waste; but the plain was lifeless, treeless, 
houseless, herbless, save the few objects alluded to above. I 
struck into a turnpike-road, when near Old Sarum, and stopped 
for dinner at a village inn. Mine host was a sociable man, his 
wife a tidy, bustling woman ; and between them, they soon pre- 
pared me a meal to which I did justice, for my appetite was 
sharpened by the walk and humid atmosphere. Some few of the 
shepherds whom I met on the southern borders of the downs 
managed to open their mouths when I spoke, and from them I 
gleaned something of their mode of life. Their wages vary 
from sixpence to a shilling per day, out of which sum they must 
find themselves; and for that pittance they are exposed to all 
weathers, and are frequently compelled to '^ tend their flocks by 
night" as well as by day. What little I saw of them did not im- 
press me favorably with their social condition or intelligence, but 
did much to remove the romance I have always invested them with 
since reading in my Sunday School days the story of the Shepherd 
of Salisbury Plain. Campbell somewhere says: — 

"When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 
What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws!" 

And the sentiment applies to other things not scientific; for 
how much do those objects sufl"er from contact with us, that our 
imaginations have invested with a charm — things which we have 
viewed with our mental eyes, at a distance, through the medium of 
written descriptions, but which on inspection become cold matter- 
of-fact affairs — without poetry, without beauty. The realm of 
fancy is invaded when our desire to see what we regard so beau- 



328 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

tiful is fulfilled; and when we do behold it, lo! it too often turns 
to dust; and for our pains we lose the dreams of the beautiful 
which have been our loves for years. This coming into contact 
with things real and historical, things which our minds have in- 
vested with a halo of glory, is a sad end to many a splendid 
vision, and destroys the happiness of many a mind. The being 
finds he has been cheated, and cries, in the bitterness of his dis- 
appointment — 

'* How vain tlie wish that sighs for sublunary things !" 

The sun was low in the heavens when I reached my hotel in 
Salisbury, and there was but little time allowed me for observation. 
The city is level and clean. The principal streets cross each 
other at right angles. There are some fine stores, several places 
of amusement, and a rich assortment of churches. Like all the 
large towns of the kingdom, it is well lighted with gas, has an 
efficient police, and an extensive market. Railways connect it 
with Southampton, Winchester, and London, and its trade is con- 
siderable. 



CHAPTEK XXXY. 

WINCHESTER, AND ITS ATTRACTIONS — ST. CROSS HOSPITAL — 

KING Arthur's round table, etc. 

My entrance into the ancient capital of the realm was at a late 
hour of the night, and I followed along, not exactly knowing 
where I was going until I gained the main street of the city. 
The thoroughfare was comparatively deserted, and I sought out a 
place of rest. No one knew me, and I knew not a soul in the 
town, and sauntered along as independent as an Indian chief. A 
comfortable inn invited a visit, and I entered its doors for the 
purpose of obtaining lodgings, but on application was refused. 
The landlady looked at me from head to foot with a suspicious 
eye^ and then at her husband, who surveyed me in like manner, 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 329 

and, after the cautious pair had fully satisfied themselves, they 
gruffly told me they had no room — and a lie ! I did not stand 
to plead, but returned to the street and sought further, and with 
success. A servant took my knapsack, and ushered me into a 
parlor, where a bright fire blazed cheerfully. I sat down in an 
arm-chair, drew off my boots before the grate, ordered supper, read 
^'The Times," and didn't care a button for any one connected 
with the Dolphin, over the way — the shanty in which I was re- 
fused a bed — and that the first time in my life. 

The cities of the south of England differ so greatly from those 
of the north, that the traveller is led to believe that they don't 
belong to the same realm. There are no large manufactories and 
smoky atmosphere, but, what is infinitely better to view, clean 
streets, brave old cathedrals, and quaint buildings of the ancient 
day. The streams near by are mostly pure crystal currents, 
and the air above is uncontarainated — unpolluted. Winchester 
is the oldest city in the land, and was the home of royalty before 
London. Its origin is involved in obscurity, but tradition and 
the historical monuments of the nation represent it as one of the 
earliest settlements of the first known inhabitants of the island. 
It is the burial-place of Alfred the Great, Canute the Pane, and 
the tyrant William Rufus. It has been the royal residence of a 
long line of England's kings, and the scene of many historical 
events of importance. In its palmy days, it was the seat of govern- 
ment, and contained the Koyal Mint, Treasury, and office of pub- 
lie records. A few remains of a castle, built by William the 
Conqueror, are still in existence, and portions of the city walls, 
erected anterior to the days of King Stephen for purposes of de- 
fence, are in fine preservation. The great massacre of all the 
Danes settled in England commenced at Winchester, and Sir 
Walter Ealeigh, and Lords Coleham and Grey were tried in it 
for high treason in the days of James the First. Jeffries there 
condemned to the block the amiable Alice Lisle, when on his 
bloody tour following the suppression of Monmouth's rebellion, 
and she died on a scaffold in the market-place of the city. It wit- 
nessed the coronation of William Rufus, and the second crowning 
of Richard Coeur de Lion, after his return from his romantic ad- 



330 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

ventures in the crusades. There Henry the Fourth wedded Joan 
of Brittany, and it was in the cathedral of the city that the mar- 
riage between Mary of England and Philip of Spain was celebrated. 
During the civil wars, it was the scene of battle and siege, having 
been taken and retaken three several times, twice by the Parlia- 
mentary, and once by the Royal troops. In the last engagement, 
Cromwell blew up the castle, battered the fortifications to pieces, 
and destroyed the bishop's palace, besides stabling his horses in 
the cathedral, and allowing his soldiers to deface the monuments, 
and otherwise injure the edifice. Charles the Second commenced 
a palace in it in 1682, but it never was completed, and is now 
used as a barracks ; and Richard Cromwell, after resigning the 
Protectorate, passed the balance of his days in retirement, at the 
old manor-house of Mardon, at Hursley, in the immediate vicinity 
of the city. 

These are some of the historical records of Winchester, and if 
this were the place for it, I might recount other incidents of equal 
importance which transpired in the once royal, but now decayed 
and fallen capital of England. 

When I pored over the pages of English history in a remote 
village of Pennsylvania, and read with breathless interest the 
events so graphically described by the historian, I scarcely be- 
lieved it possible that I should ever stand in the places made 
famous by the occurrences of time and the pen of the chronicler, 
and hence, when I enter an ancient city, whose name is connected 
with never-to-be-forgotten events, I move along its streets as if 
in a consecrated place, and with feelings akin to veneration. 

The old and crooked streets, the renowned buildings, and the 
ancient aspect of AYinchester are well adapted to recall to the 
mind of the student of English history feelings such as I have 
referred to. Its Gothic market-cross is preserved with pious 
care, and its cathedral and college are shown with pride. The 
city is small, but attractive, and the little stream that flows by it 
is a deep, transparent rill, clear as a burnished mirror. Some of 
the houses on the main street are built immediately on the curb, 
but the first story in each of these is a part of an arcade or 
passage-way for pedestrians, and the whole combined form an 



OR. WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 331 

agreeable covered promeoacle for some distance, with shops facing 
the walk. 

Mj day of observation succeeded to a night of rain, and the 
clear air and bright sun made things more than usually beautiful. 
The streets were clean, the shops showy and fine, the people act- 
ive, and the sparrows doubly tame and sociable. I wended my 
way to the cathedral through a paved court entrance, and soon 
reached the green inclosure or grounds around the edifice. The 
building is very large, in the usual form of a cross, with a tower 
rising from the transepts and choir. The exterior, particularly the 
western end, is richly embellished with carvings and niches, ar- 
cades, and splendid windows. The buttresses are fine ornaments 
to the structure, and as each of them is surmounted by pinnacles 
terminated by finials, richly foliated, they have a pleasing effect to 
the eye. The great western window is divided by transoms and 
mullions, which give it a superb appearance, in connection with 
the smaller ones at the side, the great arched doors, and the 
mouldings on the other sections of the front. The interior of the 
nave is sublime, and the eye shoots along the lofty vault, fretted 
with exquisite tracery, and rests in admiration on the glowing 
colors of the eastern window. The extent of this portion of the 
gorgeous shrine is three hundred feet, and its vaulted ceiling 
eighty feet high. Imagine to yourself its grandeur from these 
dimensions, and reflect that the choir and lady-chapel add one 
hundred and eighty feet more to the view. Probably the great 
fault of Winchester cathedral is, its want of architectural uni- 
formity — a fault belonging more or less to nearly every similar 
edifice in England. There are grand specimens of Norman, 
English, and pointed Gothic ; and the student of the art will find 
in this building the perfection of each of these styles. The fact 
that the edifice was four hundred years in course of erection suf- 
ficiently accounts for the variety of its architecture; but it is to be 
regretted that it was not completed as it was begun, in the purest 
Norman. The tower is too low — too squatty, if such an expres- 
sion may be allowed. The transepts are lofty and grand, and the 
whole interior masterly. The tombs are numerous, and that of the 
celebrated Wykenham the best preserved ecclesiastical monument 



332 

of the olden time in the country. The figure of the bishop re- 
poses at full length on the richly carved tomb, and it is in such 
a state of preservation that one would suppose it a modern instead 
of an ancient work. There is a bronze statue of Charles the First 
on one side of the entrance to the choir from the nave, and one of 
James the First on the opposite side ; and both are fair specimens 
of the art, and must have been chef-cV oeuvres when executed. 
The interior of the choir is glorious, and with its stained glass 
windows, its decorated ceiling, and carved stalls, leaves a lasting 
impression on the mind of the beholder. West's grand picture 
of the "Raising of Lazarus" ornaments the altar-screen at the 
chancel-end of the choir, but the tone of its coloring, though 
better than that of the majority of the artist's works, is not so 
mellow as could be desired. It is so placed as to obscure a great 
portion of the screen, the delicacy of which is marvellous, and a 
study for the sculptor of this age. Two elegant stone partitions, 
one on either side, divide the choir from the side aisles, and on 
the tops of these are ranged, in regular order, six mortuary chests 
containing human bones. They bear Latin inscriptions, setting 
forth that within are deposited the skeletons of various kings of 
England, from the year 641 to 1100. 

One of these chests, the third, contains the bones, in part, of 
Canute, the Danish king, his queen Emma, the Fair Maid of 
Normandy, and William Rufus — a strange commingling, surely, 
of the ashes of the royal. In addition to these, may be mentioned 
the remains of two Saxon prelates, Wina and Stigand ; and the 
inscription states that they were deposited in their present resting-- 
place in 1661, "having been exhumed and scattered about by 
sacrilegious barbarians in the year 1642," which is another sin 
for poor old Noll's broad shoulders. I was conducted through 
the building by an officer who pointed out the tomb of William 
Kufus, and Richard, the second son of William the Conqueror ; 
and the chair which Queen Mary occupied at the time the mar- 
riage ceremony was performed between her and Philip of Spain. 
They were married in the lady-chapel, and the chair is in that 
department. There are several fine figures of crusaders in the 
chancel and aisles, and a splendid statue of Bishop North, by 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 333 

Chan trey. The verger left me for a time to myself, and as I 
loitered about the aisles and chapels alone, I devoted my attention 
to such objects as most interested me, in an architectural or histo- 
rical light. The Norman arches and doors of the lower stories 
impressed me with their solemn grandeur — and the elegance of 
the upper work contrasted strongly with the heavier parts below. 
There are several small chapels connected with the principal build- 
ing by vaulted passages, and in one of these, called Prior Silk- 
stede's Chapel, I stepped upon a stone fitted in the floor, which 
contained an inscription, and, on reading, found it to be the tomb 
of that prince of anglers, " honest Isaac \Yalton I" There he 
sleeps in that lonely cell of the great cathedral, and not far off 
gurgle the waters of the meandering Itchen, in whose depths he 
so oft dipped his treacherous bait. The rays of the sun struggle 
through the misty glass of the solemn Norman windows, and fall 
wavingly on the black marble on which the curious may read as 
follows : — 

Here resteth the body of 
Mr. Isaac AValton, 
wlio died the Fifteenth of December, 
1G83. 
Alas! he's gone before, 
Gone to return no more ; 
Our parting breasts aspire 
After their aged sire, 
Whose well-spent life did last 
Full ninety years and past ; 
But now he has begun 
That which will ne'er be done ; 
Crowned with eternal bliss, 
We wish our souls with his. 

And in Latin : " Thus, modest hours his children wept." The 
lines are dull enough, and quite as effective as a dose of opium 
for purposes of sleep, and do not speak much in favor of the poeti- 
cal talent of their author, whoever he was. 

One of the old charities of the land is still sustained at the 
Hospital and Church of St. Cross, about a mile from Winchester, 
on the banks of the Itchen. Thirteen arred men live there in 



334 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

houses provided for them, and pass their days in repose. They 
are clothed in a long-forgotten costume, and have the appearance 
of the ghosts of men who died in the twelfth century. It is a 
peaceful home for those weather-worn old men, that Hospital of 
St. Cross, and they enjoy its charities in quiet and seclusion. 
The custom of giving away to any who may apply for it a mug 
of beer and crust of bread is still adhered to. The porter's lodge 
is in the great arched gateway, and on knocking at the door of the 
attendant's residence, and demanding the gift, you are at once 
supplied. Many persons of respectability go and receive the beer 
and crust through mere curiosity, and to continue the ancient 
custom. When I was there, several Irishmen were sitting on the 
bench at the porter's gate, waiting for the bounty of the place. 

I continued my walk around the city, visiting the most famous 
places, and among others the barracks, once the palace of Charles 
the Second. A regiment of red coats was on parade, and every 
man moved with the precision of a piece of senseless machinery. 
The officers were a set of whiskered dandies, and the soldiers 
wooden men. I left the brave warriors of her Majesty, and pass- 
ing through the west gate, the most entire of the ancient city 
fortifications, approached the old castle. What remains of the 
fortress has been converted into a portion of the walls of the 
modern Court-House, and therefore does not show to advantage. 
The grand room contains a relic of the past — famous the wide 
world over — the Round Table of King Arthur and his knights. It 
is suspended on the eastern wall, and, to prevent it from falling 
to pieces, has an iron band securely placed around the outer edge. 
I had no means of measuring it, but should judge it to be full 
fifteen feet in diameter. The top is divided off into regular and 
equal portions, which are painted alternately white and green, 
beaded with red lines. The name of each knight and baron is 
in the arch of the division allotted to him, and the portrait of the 
king is conspicuously painted on one of the sections. The table 
bears an inscription, in addition to the names of the knights, and 
is perforated with bullets, said to have been fired through it by 
Oliver Cromwell's soldiers, when in Winchester. The old relic 
calls to the mind of the gazer the throng of twenty-four mailed 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 335 

barons who were wont to gather round it in the days of chivalry, 
and there 

*' Drink the red wine thro' the helmet barred." 

Each one had a space sufficiently large for his goblet of grape- 
juice and flagon of bright Burgundy, and many a loud laugh and 
piquant jest has circulated round that famous board in the days 
of old when the luscious beverage was at work in the brains of the 
warriors there assembled. It looks as if designed for wassail and 
revelry, and right well do they who preserve it in iron bands as it 
now is. 

In my rambles about the city, I noticed the condition of the 
lower order of people, but as it varies but little from that of the 
same class in any of the other southern cities, there is but little 
worth recording here. While sitting in the cofi"e«-room of my 
inn, I entered into conversation with a workingman, who readily 
communicated such information respecting the city as I desired. 
He possessed a strong intellect, good conversational powers, and 
a friendly spirit. Wherever I met with intelligent workingmen 
in England, and there are many such, I always found liberal 
sentiments and kindly treatment, and a knowledge of history and 
politics truly astonishing, when it is considered that such know- 
ledge was acquired by hard study after a long day's labor. Such 
are the thinking men of England, and their numbers are daily 
increasing with their stock of knowledge, and if they continue to 
increase throughout the country for the next ten years, as fast as 
they have done in the ten just past, they will, ere long, seal the 
fate of royalty in the realm of Great Britain, and sweep into the 
vortex of the past every kingly claim. They think — they reason 
— they act; and, however much they may be sneered at and con- 
temned, ridiculed, vilified, and abused, they still press on in the 
path of justice and popular rights, unmindful of the titled drones 
who suck their life's blood, and yet laugh them to scorn ; and are 
sowing the seeds now of a revolution which must eventually tell 
with terrible force against the aristocracy of the country, and fix 
its doom. They are not very numerous comparatively, but they 
are not idlers, and act with a firm conviction of being the soldiers 



336 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

of a righteous cause, and neither falter nor halt in their manly 
course. What they sow takes root, and the fruits of their labor 
will be felt and seen among the young of their class of the rising 
generation. Kingcraft is sealed in England, and these men are 
silently, noiselessly, slowly, but surely, working out the truth, and 
will develop it to the world in its own proper time. It will be a 
bloodless revolution — a revolution of mind over exploded theoiies 
— of intelligence and justice over tyranny, hypocrisy, and wrong 
— of the too long downtrodden and spurned many over the legal- 
ized^ aristocratic, supercilious, and arrogant few. 



CHAPTER XXXYI. 

Return to London — rambles — old places — fallen women. 

From "Winchester to the metropolis I met with but little of 
note, and as the route lay over a country both level and unin- 
teresting there was nothing worthy of particular attention. When 
I arrived at the Waterloo station, on the Surrey side of the 
Thames, things were different from what they were during the 
continuance of the Exhibition. The trains were less crowded, the 
cabs more idle, and the landing less thronged than when I last 
visited the place. Then foreigners with mustaches crowded the 
approaches, and one's ears were saluted by a confusion of tongues, 
strange and incomprehensible. Frenchmen, Belgians, Germans, 
and Spaniards were there preparing for their return to the Con- 
tinent, and busy porters and interpreters were directing the 
strangers to the carriages which were to convey them away. Now 
there were none but natives present, and they were cold and re- 
served in manner. I escaped from the mass that emerged from 
the cars and filled the platform, and gained the open street as 
soon as circumstances would permit. The streets were not 
thronged with pedestrians, as in the zenith of the Exhibition en- 
thusiasm, and the omnibus proprietors had relaxed their ava- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 337 

riciousness by reducing the fares from sixpence to one-half that 
sum. Seven weeks had worked wonders in the great city, but no 
great change in my friendly landlord, for, when I knocked at his 
door, I was welcomed with unfeigned delight by himself and 
ftimily, and felt that I was really at home. It was a sincere out- 
pouring of true, honest friendship, that cordial greeting, and such 
a one as comes with joy to the heart of a stranger in a foreign 
land. 

The man who has a penchant for the old and remarkable finds 
sufficient to occupy his time and attention when in London. 
There is abundant to admire, and much to record. 

I amused myself in various ways when strolling about the city; 
but my greatest gratification was derived from visiting such places 
as are celebrated by their connection with the famous men and 
remarkable events of the olden time. I hunted out the '' Devil 
Tavern" and the "Grecian;" but there is not a feature of their 
ancient glory remaining. The people who resort to them are 
clothed in the habit of our day, and you look in vain for the strange 
costume of the time of Queen Anne. At night, these houses ap- 
pear more sacred than during the day, for it was at night that 
they were fullest of company in their days of glory, and it is then 
that they are most crowded now. 

The vicinity of Temple Bar, and thence up the Strand, was a 
favorite resort; but I sometimes varied my walk and rambled into 
the eastern part of the city, as far as Tower Hill and the Docks. 
St. Dunstan's Church, in the east, has often attracted me; and not 
only its strange steeple, but its architectural beauties repaid me 
for my trouble. The old houses on the narrow, crooked, and steep 
streets, and the busy, maritime, mercantile-looking people there- 
about during the day, have so much of the air of the past about 
them that I took more pleasure in visiting them than any other 
objects in London, because the inhabitants are more in character 
with the buildings they inhabit than the dwellers in Cheapside and 
Fleet Street are with those renowned sections. Tower Hill de- 
tained me frequently, and I looked over it with strange feelings, 
on to the prisons of many whose names are household words in 
America — Lady Jane Grey's, Anne Boleyu's, and Sir Thomas 
29 



338 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

More's. Then there is Trinity House, and the birthplace of Wil- 
liam Penn, for he was born on Tower Hill, I sometimes stood 
there alone in a reflecting mood, and, regardless of the showman 
who exhibited his learned birds and quadrupeds, called to mind 
the scenes witnessed on that spot in other days, when crowds 
gathered there to look upon such as were brought forth to die. 
The grass grows green in the once fetid moat, and flowers bloom 
on the place that soaked the gore of the too often innocent who 
sufi"ered there ; but the earth is the same now as when executions 
were common on the spot, although time and policies are changed, 
and my fancy often pictured before me the assembled crowd wait- 
ing to witness a fellow-being die. That is the place of death, and 
the one who is familiar with the history of the Tower cannot help 
calling to mind the scenes of the past when standing near it. In 
front is the White Tower, with its solid Norman arches and im- 
penetrable walls, and beyond that the crime-begrimed Bloody 
Tower, in which the prince sons of Edward the Fourth were mur- 
dered by their uncle's hired assassins; and nearer, the Bowyer 
Tower, where tradition says Clarence was drowned in a butt of 
malmsey. Men in the soldier-dress of the days of Henry the 
Seventh, big, burly, heef-eating Britons, stand within the archway 
by which you enter the gloomy prison ; and sentinels pace to and 
fro before the ponderous gates. The building and its towers, its 
walls and battlements, its cells and apartments, are, with but few 
exceptions, the same as when men were chained therein for real 
or fancied crimes ; and, as I gazed upon the Hill and the Tower of 
London, the names of those who there suff'ered death flashed across 
my mind. The place of execution is visible from the outer side 
of the walls, and I often stood where Margaret of Shrewsbury, 
Surrey the poet. Lord Dudley, the Earl of Stafford, Archbishop 
Laud, young Harry Vane, and Howard, Earl of Strafford_, yielded 
up their lives in extenuation of real or imputed crimes. Years 
have gone by since the last execution took place on Tower Hill ; 
but the murders perpetrated there can never be obliterated from 
the pages of history, nor will the impression of the spot made 
upon the minds of youthful readers by the chronicler ever be 
fomotten. 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 339 

As tlie stranger stands and looks riverwards from the eminence, 
his eye meets the crowded Thames and the various craft which 
traverse its bosom ; and the mind is led into reflections on the 
past, suggested by diiFerent associations from those connected with 
the walls of the tower and the places of execution. Large steam- 
ships navigate the sinuous river, and countless shipping blacken 
its waters, and with their tall masts almost shut out from sight 
the opposite shore. How different is the Thames at Londou now 
from what it was when the keels of the Pvoman galleys divided its 
waters, and the fleets of the conquerer covered its surface ! And 
how altered from what it was two hundred years ago, when host3 
of wherries and watermen moved upon its bosom, and but one 
wretched, rickety bridge spanned its waters ! The glory of the 
abusive boatman has departed, and his calling is almost unknown 
at this day in the very locality where, less than a century ago, it 
was deemed indispensable and considered imperishable. Now, 
steam usurps the stream and business of the once useful wherry; 
and foot-passengers cross and recross from shore to shore of the 
Thames, both over and under its waters, without molestation, at 
all hours, day and night, and almost without charge. The river 
streets of the eastern section of the metropolis are narrow, muddy 
or dusty, and thronged. They partake, more or less, of the 
character of the streets nearest the rivers in other cities, so far as 
business is concerned, and the people who inhabit them ; but the 
houses are old, the footways narrow, and the general appearance 
gloomy. The men you encounter there are bent on trade, and 
the heavy vans and ponderous carts which roll lazily through 
those avenues, lumbered up with merchandise, convey to the 
mind of the beholder an idea of the peculiar business transacted 
there. I was rather fond of sauntering through them, and my 
face became known in one or two coffee-houses in Lower Thames 
Street, but more particularly in that one called Czar's Head, cele- 
brated for having been the place to which Peter the Great was 
accustomed to retire after finishing his day's labor in the ship- 
yard where he wrought as a journeyman when in London. 

Below the Tower, the streets are generally badly built, and the 
abodes of wretched poor. Eose-Mary Lane, in that quarter, was 



340 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

famous, centuries ago, for its squalid appearance, and its trade in 
worn-out articles of apparel, old furniture, and scraps of iron. I 
never saw a more varied collection of broken and worn-out things 
than is contained in some of the shops in that home of the desti- 
tute poor, and resort of thieves and vagabonds. Petticoat Lane, 
the Broadway of the cheating and lying Jews of London, is pro- 
bably worse in its general features ; but it does not harbor so 
many really destitute beings. Squalid wretchedness meets the 
stranger at every turn ; and I was more than once shocked in 
beholding women so badly clothed as to be scarcely fit for public 
gaze, and certainly unfit to go into the presence of those members 
of their sex whose nerves are shocked when they come in con- 
tact with ill and unfashionably dressed people. In a walk of 
half an hour, I met more degraded, half-naked, barefooted females, 
and sickly children, than I ever saw in the United States in nearly 
twent}'- years. Poor wretches, without bonnets, whose straggling 
hair streamed in the cold damp winds of December, were walking 
barefooted over the mud-clotted pavement, and shivering with 
chill, and I was touched with compassion for their awful and 
friendless condition. My store was opened to their relief; and it 
was a luxury to me to be able to render such as I could a tempo- 
rary good. Who that has ever gazed upon a fallen, sunken 
woman, wandering the streets, barefooted and with loosened hair, 
without a sympathizer and homeless, but has felt his heart throb 
with compassion for the houseless outcast ? I never see such an 
object of pity without reflecting that the degraded one before me 
was once a sinless child at her mother's knee, and happy — a 
guileless prattler, whose voice was music to its parents' ears ; and 
then to think how fallen — how corrupt — how degraded her woman- 
hood ! But few look kindly on her, and the world passes her by 
unheeded. Let her reform, let her work, is the cry ; but who 
takes her by the hand, and raises her from her degradation ? 
Who offers her a home and employment? Surely not those who 
tell her to labor. Where, then, is she to find the means of re- 
forming, and work, if she wants it ? The opportunities for im- 
proving her condition are rare ; nearly all shrink from her as 
from contagion ; and at last she dies in a ditch and rots on a dung- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 341 

hill ! — the usual fiite of that home of a soul — that form of an 
angel. 

I occasionally took a stroll, after sundown, along Holborn and 
Oxford Streets, where I saw another phase of life from that 
exhibited on the streets nearer the river. Those thoroughfares 
are wider than the Strand, or Fleet, and constantly crowded, day 
and night. The shops are showy and fashionable, and in many 
of them are displayed finery of every description. Gin-palaces 
are numerous, and their dazzling lights and gilded signs never fail 
of attracting the eye. Every species of humbug is practised by 
some of the keepers of these places to obtain custom, and crowds 
of the curious assemble nightly at the doors to see bar-maids 
arrayed in the Bloomer costume, or some other equally stupid 
attraction. As the night wears on, the respectable portion of the 
people, who may be abroad, gradually disappear, and by eleven 
o'clock have nearly deserted the streets, and given them up to the 
houseless and the profligate, the abandoned and the prostitute. 
Holborn and Oxford Streets are not the only night resorts of 
degraded women, unfortunately. Almost every thoroughfare in 
Loudon is the haunt of these poor beings, and thousands of them 
go forth at night to pursue their wretched calling. From obser- 
vations made during a residence of some months, I firmly believe 
that the abandoned women of London are of every age — from the 
tender 3^ears of childhood to the more advanced and declining 
periods of life — and various conditions and castes. Some flout in 
silks and jewelry, satins and feathers ; while others are more 
humble and less showy. The great majority of them are young 
and handsome — noble-looking. ! it is sickening to see those 
forsaken outcasts, as they perambulate the streets, using their arts 
to fascinate such as cross their path. In the early part of the 
evening, they are cautious and ladylike in their every movement ; 
but, when the clock points to eleven, they become bold and 
shameless. Their degradation is awful, and they stop at nothing. 
I cannot think they act as they do from choice, but from necessity. 
They will throw their arms around a man, and plead with him for 
his company. Persuasion, smiles, lasciviousncss — every device is 
tried to induce those they meet to follow them. If they find their 

29* 



342 THE FOOTPATH AND ^IGR^YAY; 

eloquence fail of that end, then they ask for a few pence whereby 
to purchase a glass of gin to drown their sorrow. They assume 
cheerfulness and gayety when their hearts are leadlike with woe ; 
and their forced smiles and hysterical laughter prove their misery 
of soul. Night after night they follow their unholy trade ; up 
one street, and down another — now in a gin-palace, inhaling the 
poisonous beverage, and now pacing the pavement with weary 
limbs and aching heart ; and thus continue until the gray gleams 
of morning flash along the eastern sky. They are forsaken and 
fallen — outcasts and harlots — but still women ; and I shuddered 
when I beheld them in their shame. Some men in this world 
have sins to atone for, and the worst one is the betrayal of woman. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

DINING OF THE BLUE COAT SCHOOL-BOYS DUKE OF WELLINGTON 

MECHANICS — TRADESMEN — SOCIALISTS. 

The attractions of London are so numerous, that no one can 
notice them in regular order, and therefore it is useless to try. I 
somewhere before alluded to the Blue Coat School, but not in de- 
tail; and as it is one of the many really interesting objects in the 
metropolis, I may here devote a short space to it, at the risk of 
the charge of being trite. The buildings in which the boys reside 
and receive instruction are off Newgate Street to the north, the 
principal one facing that avenue, as well as a large court-yard 
between it and the thoroughfare. The scholars number from 
seven hundred to a thousand, are from ten to eighteen years of 
age, and dressed uniformly. The costume is singular, and at- 
tractive to strangers, but by no means handsome. The long blue 
coat, reaching down to the heels, is the main feature, and it is this 
which gives name to the school. Many of the boys tuck it up 
under their red leathern girdle when romping about in the great 
playground, but all of them are proud to wear it, and evidently 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 343 

regard it a badge of honor, although there was a time in England 
when blue was a color no gentleman would wear. The boys 
ramble about London during certain hours of the day barehead, 
and, rain or dry, it is the same to them. The discipline is not 
so rigid as when Charles Lamb was a scholar there, and several 
of the old customs are fallen into disuse. The most interestino- 
exhibitions continued to this day are the boys' participation in 
the service at Christ Church (the place of worship of the school), 
and dining in public on Sunday. I went to the great hall of the 
institution one Sabbath day to witness them dine, and never was 
I present at a more imposing ceremony than that performed by 
the boys before they partook of their meal. Tlie room is large, 
with a gallery at the western end for spectators, a great organ at 
the east, and the walls adorned with some old and curious pic- 
tures of merit. The tables are fifteen in number, and a female 
takes post at the head of each at the dining hour. The children 
usually go directly from the church to the hall, and as the whole 
seven hundred pour into the room about the same time, the tread 
of their many feet and the sound of their voices commingle, 
and absorb all other noises. After they have all entered the 
room, and taken their places at the table, a signal for quiet is 
given, at which every murmur is hushed. One of the elder 
youths reads an appropriate service; they kneel like a mighty 
host in prayer -, and then, as the full tones of the powerful organ 
roll out upon the air, the chorus of their thousand childish voices 
swells to heaven in harmonious praise. It is an impressive ser- 
vice, and no spectator can witness it unmoved. If those boys of 
the Blue Coat School were taught nothing else but that sublime 
prayer and glorious hymn, the institution would not be useless. 
From the least to the greatest — from the youngest to the oldest, 
they all unite, at the dining-hour of the Sabbath day, in praise to 
Him who reigns on high, and there is an earnestness in their 
voices, when hymning thanks to the Deity, that bids every tu- 
multuous thought be still in the breast of the beholder. 

After the ceremony is performed, the meal is served in nearly 
the same manner in which it was usual to serve it three centuries 
ago. The meat is in wooden trenchers, the beer poured from 



344 

leathern black jacks into wooden piggins, and the potatoes are 
cooked with the skins on. The phites are of a particuhir pattern, 
the food plain, the bread being in rolls, and served from large 
baskets. The strictest decorum characterizes all, and the dining 
of the Blue Coat Boys on Sunday is among the most instructive 
and agreeable sights in London. 

The Duke of Wellington was one of the few men who excited 
the curiosity of strangers in England. His renown made him an 
object of interest, and foreigners eagerly sought an opportunity 
of seeing him. I had been in the metropolis on several occasions, 
at each of which periods I made exertions to get a look at the 
hero, but without success, until March, 1852, when by mere acci- 
dent I met him near Charing Cross, on his way to the Horse 
Guards, a place he visited frequently, on official business. From 
my childhood I entertained opinions averse to the personal at- 
tractions of AYellington, solely on account of the published pic- 
tures of him, in which the nose is represented so prominently. 
The portraits do not give that feature breadth sufficient at the 
nostrils, and consequently the physiognomist notices a deficiency 
in calculation that it is difficult to account for in a man so famous 
as Wellington was for forethought and skilful investigation. The 
artists too often exaggerated the prominence, but never the width 
of that most singular feature of the " Iron Duke.'^ When I saw 
him he was on horseback, followed by a servant mounted, and 
trotted slowly along, occasionally returning the salutations of the 
people as he passed. He was dressed in a plain suit of blue cloth, 
rode with ease, but bent forward considerably from age. His 
appearance was that of a quiet, sensible old man, who had ex- 
hausted the honors of the world, and was cheerfully journeying 
to the grave. His eye was bright, his countenance furrowed but 
calm, and he was to me the very best specimen of the affluent, 
contented, old English gentleman it was my good fortune to see 
in Great Britain. His nose agreeably disappointed me, as its 
breadth at the nostrils fully satisfied me that he was, in fact, what 
fame and his deeds proclaimed him, and not what pictures led 
those personally unacquainted with his features to consider him. 



OR, AYANDERTNGS OF AN AMERICAN. 345 

I liked the great man much, and dismissed my prejudices against 
him as soon as my eyes beheld his face. He was a greater object 
of interest than the Crystal Palace, and almost any man would 
have called him great without knowing who he was. His ap- 
pearance indicated good living, and, if I may be allowed to ex- 
press an opinion from his countenance, he was not by any means 
a bad judge of wine. Probably his campaigns in the peninsula 
afforded him an opportunity of perfecting himself in deciding as 
to the qualities of the juice of the grape, for he evidently knew 
and loved the good. But the grave incloses him now, and history 
will say more of the blood than of the wine he spilt, and more of 
his virtues than his vices. 

The condition and manner of living of the mechanics of Lon- 
don are subjects worthy of note, and if accurately described, 
interesting. During ray various residences in the city, I met with 
families of that class with whom I freely associated, and had, 
therefore, opportunities of observing them at their hearth- sides. 
Those whose acquaintance I made were of the better class, men 
of intelligence and refinement, and some of them decidedly clever. 
Their domestic comforts were few, and their mode of living by 
no means enviable. Wages are not so high in London, in propor- 
tion to rents and provisions, as they are in some of the provincial 
towns, and it rarely occurs that a mechanic has his own house in 
the metropolis. They usually live in lodgings, that is, two or 
three rooms in some large building, in which a number of families 
are quartered, and their furniture is comprised in a case of drawers, 
beds for the accommodation of all, and the requisite chairs, car- 
pets, and tables. Thus packed in a contracted space, they live 
without being able to enjoy domestic seclusion, and cannot be said 
to have what every Englishman calls his castle — a house ; but 
only a small portion of one. The young, or single men, generally 
have a room which they furnish to their taste, or bargain for 
furnished, and in that they live, or rather lodge, for many of them 
obtain their meals at coffee-houses and other places of resort. 
Some do their own cooking in their apartments, and thus live 



346 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

economically. They dwell apart from their landlords, and rarely 
enjoy that semi-home known among us as a boarding house. The 
system is productive of much evil, and leads many young men 
into habits of dissipation and immorality. It may be set down 
as a fact, without fear of contradiction, that not one journeyman 
mechanic in London out of fifty has a house to himself. They 
either rent rooms out to others, or from others; and the stranger, 
in rambling about the city, will notice " lodgings to let" in nearly 
every house of moderate size in those sections where the artisans 
reside. The distinctive classes of society are numerous, and there 
are castes among all occupations. The small master tradesmen 
are above the workmen, and live, in many cases, in comfortable, 
convenient houses in the suburbs, in a style approaching to ele- 
gance. It is among that class of people that the greatest amount 
of happiness is to be found in England, as well as virtue, and 
hospitality to strangers. In reality they are the men of the realm, 
and the bulwark of the nation. They are intelligent without pe- 
dantry, refined without pomp, and cultivated without affectation. 
Too sensible to be worshippers of rank, they admire what is good 
in their government without bowing to what is vile in the system, 
and although educated and reared under monarchical institutions, 
by no means hold to the divine right of kings. Ardent lovers of 
their native land, and proud of their country's glory, they never- 
theless oppose the unjustifiable use of its power against weak and 
inoffensive nations, and denounce alike the conquests in India and 
the shameful encroachments of England on the lands of the 
Kaffirs and Hottentots. Among such men I spent hours most 
agreeably, and never remarked anything in their families but 
the most exemplary conduct and creditable behavior. Their 
manner of living is plain, and yet some of their customs are 
decidedly censurable. They seldom rise before seven, breakfast at 
eight or nine, dine at two or three, take tea at five, which is usu- 
ally a plain meal of bread cut into very thin slices, and buttered, 
with tea, and a species of plum or fruit-cake. That is the favor- 
ite hour of gossip among the women, and the Chinese beverage 
generally sets their tongues actively to work. At about nine 
o'clock they foolishly have a hot supper, which is out of all reason 



ORj WANDERINGS OF -AN AMERICAN. 347 

for people of their intelligence, and must be decidedly injurious 
to the digestive organs, as well as a disturber of sleep. The 
English are remarkably particular in some things, and eat no fruit 
unless the skin is removed — consider it horrible to bite bread, and 
faint to see a person eat pickles with fish ; and yet they will gor- 
mandize from morning to midnight, swallow hot meats, cheese, 
and ale at twelve o'clock at night, and then retire to rest with 
loaded stomachs and bewildered brains. To do so is the error of 
the class I now speak of, and about the only thing in which they 
imitate the fashion and folly of the aristocracy. The routine de- 
scribed is peculiar to the tradesmen of London, and is pretty 
generally practised. The employers do not get to business so 
early as with us; nor do they work so constantly and late. They 
like the customs of their class, and expect tea at five o'clock as 
regularly as breakfast at eight in the morning. 

Sis winter weeks in the metropolis afforded me frequent oppor- 
tunities to visit such places as my inclinations prompted, or chance 
presented; and during that time I often mingled in pleasant even- 
ing assemblages at the hearth-sides of my friends, and enjoyed 
social and intellectual treats of an agreeable character. I was 
fortunate in my acquaintance, and no one could desire the friend- 
ship of nobler men and women than it was my lot to pass my 
time with. They were in the middle walks of life — free from 
pride — free from envy — free from rudeness. All intelligent, and 
some persons of superior acquirements and strong intellects. 
They were of that class of men that is in reality noble, and of 
that portion of the English people that redeems the national cha- 
racter from pride and vain conceit. They were moral, refined, 
sincere, honorable, and hospitable, and consequently a credit to 
their country. Some of them were socialists, practically and theo- 
retically; but the conduct and lives of these were unimpeachable. 
In fact, although they made no profession of religion, but, on 
the contrary, denounced all systems indiscriminately, they were in 
all the relations of life practisers of true Christian principles. 
During an acquaintance of five months, in which period I often 
visited at their houses, I never observed the slightest rudeness on 
the part of their children, or heard a single indelicate expression 



348 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

fall from the lips of an individual member. Intellectual improve- 
ment and correct deportment were aimed at by all, and even the 
little, prattling children used correct language, and vied with each 
other in good conduct and kindly feeling. The ruling power was 
kindness; and it was a potent and a refining instrument surely. 
The evenings I passed in the company of those to whom I refer 
will never be erased from my mind; and although some may doubt 
my statements in respect to thes6 practical socialists, and pretend 
to regard me as an advocate of the social system, and over-warm 
in my admiration of it, I here most decidedly declare my oppo- 
sition to the doctrine; but, at the same time, as a candid and 
truthful man, must say that, wherever I visited in the families 
of English socialists of intelligence, I observed the most exem- 
plary conduct, and an amability of character and a charity for 
the degraded and fallen of our race that would put to the blush 
one-half, at least, of the professed followers of Jesus. Those who 
are familiar with the workings of socialism may be able to trace 
the effect, recorded above, to causes foreign to socialist doctrines; 
but whether they will or not, I am willing to bear my. testimony 
to the facts as stated, and to believe them the result of proper 
training and solid education. Of the socialists I met in London, 
and became intimate with, there was not one in whom I would 
not repose the most implicit confidence. 

On the 12th of December, 1851, I wrote thus in my journal, 
and transcribe it to break the monotony of the narration : This 
morning we have a regular old-fashioned London fog — thick, 
murky, dull. I have just returned from a walk through it, and 
can speak feelingly of its density. There's no sky, no sun, no 
daylight. I passed along St. Martin' s-le-Grand, but could not 
see the post-office on the opposite side of the way. Cheapside 
was full of obscurity and omnibuses ; and St. Paul's churchyard 
full of phantoms. The gas was burning in the shops and street 
lamps, and things looked to me like the works of a dream. As 
I stood at the side of St. Paul's, I tried to catch a sight of its 
form, but in vain. I could see the iron railing over the way, but 
the grand cathedral was entirely veiled from view. Every spot 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 349 

was alike. I could see about ten feet ahead of me, but beyond 
that all was misty and impenetrable to the eye. The people 
moved along noiselessly and quick, like figures in a dream — now 
in sightj the next instant lost to observation. As I descended 
Ludgate Hill, a caravan of omnibuses was going toward St. Paul's, 
and the three or four that I could see at a time appeared as if 
they were moving through the clouds. The outside passengers 
of the foremost were scarcely visible, and those of the others were 
only distinguishable through the fog by their dark clothing, and 
by the fact of their being much above the densest portion of the 
mist. I continued on down to Faringdon Street, and, turning into 
it, passed over to Blackfriars Bridge, where I found the lamps 
lighted and a tide of people. The river was not to be seen, and 
it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the outline of the 
opposite side of the carriage way. It was not night — it was not 
day, and yet it appeared like a combination of the two. The air 
was thick with smoke as well as fog, and the black flakes of soot 
emitted by London chimneys settled on the ground and floated 
through the atmosphere. I was content to be an observer, and 
asked no questions, but retraced my steps, and continued down 
Fleet Street to Temple Bar; but it was all the same, go where I 
would. The beggars had ceased to implore alms, the itinerant 
tradesmen to solicit custom. Every one seemed disposed to silence, 
and if I cast a glance in at a shop window it was to see the sales- 
men working by gas-light like phantoms; and to walk the street 
was no easy matter. The pavements were thick with greasy 
mud, and a man had almost as much as he could do to keep up- 
right. Bunning against one another was a common occurrence, 
and not an agreeable one at that. But no one scolded, and each 
appeared determined to get a harbor as quick as possible. Nor 
are things changed now, at twelve o'clock. From where I sit I 
can just manage to see to the opposite side of the street, and am 
writing by gas-light. This will give some idea of a London fog 
— a sort of blanket atmosphere thrown over the city to generate 
colds, consumption, and rheumatism. It will do very well to look 
at once, but to be for a month continually dwelling in it won't 
answer at all. There is some sport in ploughing your way through 
30 



350 

it the first time, but you soon get satisfied, and are content to 
find your "way into a cheerful parlor along-side of a comfortable fire, 
where you can look through the window, and see the mist without 
feeling its damp breath. There's no use to go looking at '' mag- 
nificent buildings" where it prevails, and as for a walk in the 
parks, if you happen to get into one, you will be wonderfully lucky 
if you find your way out short of three or four hours. There you 
lose the latitude, and longitude, and all the landmarks are ob- 
scured, and there is considerable difficulty in finding a policeman 
to direct you the proper course. Take it all in all, a London fog 
is a poser and a mysterious thing — a damper to the spirits, and a 
generator of disease — a villanous compound of noxious gases, 
and a very plague; and I'll have no more of it. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

CAMBRIDGE AND ITS UNIVERSITY — THE EASTERN COUNTIES. 

The railways of England soon whirl a man from the smoke of 
London into the broad fields of the country, and in an hour or two 
one can be set down miles away from the metropolis. My time, 
for six weeks, had passed very agreeably in the city ; but, as there 
were unexplored fields before me, I determined to visit them, and 
directed my course to the eastern counties and the University of 
Cambridge. The train soon left the capital behind, and on we 
dashed through a low level country, intersected by canals and 
sluices, farms and villages, streams and turnpike roads. The 
hedges were bare, but the fields green, and, although midwinter, 
the atmosphere and landscape gave no evidence of the frosty 
breath of the season, except the absence of foliage from the trees. 
The waters were unfrozen, and it was a difficult thing to convince 
myself that this was an English winter. The day of heavy deep 
snows has passed in Britain, and the reader of Irving's graphic 
descriptions of Christmas weather in England can never, with 



851 

reason, expect to see those descriptions realized, eitber in the cold- 
ness of the season or the cheer of the time. The spirit of the age 
has swept away the festivities of old, and aside from the dinner, 
and the pleasant custom of kissing ruby lips under the mistletoe, 
there is nothing of the glory of the ancient Christmas time remain- 
ing in the land of roast beef and homebrewed ale. 

We passed hamlets at a distance, and the square towers of the 
old churches peeped from among ivy and leafless boughs, and pre- 
sented a solemn appearance to the eye. Several places of note 
lay on the route, but no time was allowed for close observation, 
and I was obliged to be content with a rapid glance at Waltham 
Abbey, the burial-place of Harold, and a distant prospect of the 
famous parish church of Saifron Walden, with its tall and grace- 
ful spire, the highest in the county of Essex. The sun had sunk 
to rest ere we reached the celebrated seat of learning, and when I 
alighted from the carriage, a clear bright crescent moon was shin- 
ing on the earth, with more than Turkish serenity, from among a 
host of dazzling constellations. I sauntered slowly into the town, 
sought out a comfortable inn, where I met a number of gentle- 
manly fellows, and then rambled about the place, peering into the 
court-yards of the colleges, or admiring the fine Gothic buildings 
in the pale light of a silver moon. The avenues were alive with 
pedestrians, but, save the footfalls of the busy citizens, or the 
slow leisurely tread of the robed and square-capped students, there 
were no sounds to disturb the quiet of the collegiate city. The 
pilgrims to the wells of learning were more numerous than the 
plain denizens ; but I was surprised to see so large a number of 
fallen women as was following the footsteps of the scholars. Pros- 
titution is one of the curses of University towns, and one of the 
most fearful of the snares that beset the young and inexperienced 
seeker after knowledge at the English colleges ; and Cambridge 
is said to contain more lewd females than any other place of 
equal size in Great Britain. They literally swarm its streets at 
night, and it requires the most rigid rules and careful police re- 
gulations to keep them within the bounds of common decency. 
They gaze lasciviously upon every male they meet, and invite 
attention by every artifice known to their sex, and seldom let a 



352 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY;' 

person escape them until they have exhausted their entire stock 
of scheming to entrap him. 

A clear bright clay is a godsend to the sight-seer in any place, 
and to the stranger in Cambridge nothing can be so favorable for 
his purposes of observation. The colleges attached to the Uni- 
versity number seventeen, and some of them are noble edifices. 
The most renowned is Trinity, the Alma Mater of many of Eng- 
land's celebrated authors, among whom may be enumerated 
Newton, Coke, Bacon, Donne, Herbert, Cowley, Dryden, and 
Byron. The majority of the edifices lie on the banks of the Cam, 
and all have spacious grounds attached to them, the greater part 
of which are beautifully laid out and ornamented with rows of 
stately elms, groves of oak, and wide shaded avenues. The river 
flows noiselessly through these splendid parks, and the halJs of 
classic learning repose on the banks of the famous stream in stately 
dignity, bearing in their every feature the secluded characteristics 
of the houses of knowledge. In my rambles around these college 
inclosures, I frequently met studious young men, with book in 
hand and eyes intently bent upon a favorite page, slowly saunter- 
ing under the leafless trees, regardless of the curious passer-by. 
Deep thought was traceable in many a countenance, and the intens- 
ity with which some studied was a proof to me that aspirations 
to be "great filled the hearts of the pale students, and visions of 
future renown prompted them to increased diligence in the pursuit 
of knowledge. There stood one against the trunk of a stately elm, 
clasping in his hand a Greek or Latin tome ; another paced the 
shores of "revered Cam,^' where, of yore, 

" The melanclioly Cowley lay ;" 

and, as the breeze of winter moaned and whistled through the 
leafless branches over his head, he heeded it not, but drank in the 
rich draught of learning. I envied those young fellows, and longed 
to be a participant in their delights. The splendid parks are so 
admirably designed for the purposes to which they are applied, 
and the old halls so classic in their appearance, it seemed to me 
that learning falls unsought like a mantle upon the student who 
is fortunate enough to be an inmate of the University of Cam- 
bridge. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AxMERICAN. 353 

When the day had somewhat advanced, I entered the great 
court-yard of Trinity College, and, procuring the services of an 
intelligent guide, traversed the principal hails of the old pile. I 
visited the great dining-room, an apartment adorned with portraits 
of distinguished English scholars, and passing from it entered 
the grand library of the college where Thorwaldsen's splendid 
statue of Byron stands conspicuously. It is a noble production 
of the chisel, and the great Swedish artist has thrown into the 
speechless marble of Carrara the very semblance of the wayward 
bard. The figure is in an easy sitting posture, resting one elbow 
on a number of volumes, while the right hand holds a crayon 
carelessly in the fingers, one end of which is against the chin, and 
the eyes upraised as if the soul were drinking in the sweetest in- 
spiration. The whole aspect of the figure is extremely youthful ; 
but the librarian, who knew Byron, informed me that it is re- 
markably like the great bard, both in form and expression of face. 
The body is clothed in modern costume, with a single-breasted 
frock-coat, buttoned carelessly across the chest, so as to leave the 
throat exposed; and over the shoulders is a loose mantle, which 
falls in graceful folds around the form and feet of the figure. The 
expression of the countenance is angelic, and the dullest mind 
would experience pleasure in contemplating it. Aside from the 
subject from which it originated, the statue is sublime, and when 
the beholder reflects that it is a faithful representation of the 
erratic and wonderful author of ^' Don Juan," he stands in admira- 
tion of the intellectual and personal beauty of the man. Such 
figures as that of Byron are worthy of immortal marble, and gene- 
rations yet to come will gaze with delight upon the petrified form 
of the bard left us by the genius of Thorwaldsen. 

There are other productions of the chisel in the room, but none 
of them deserve particular mention. There is one object, how- 
ever, of the greatest interest to the lover of the sublime in literal 
ture, and that is the original* of ''Paradise Lost" in Milton's own 

* A correspondent of the " New Yoi-k Courier and Inquirer," in which 
journal this chapter was published in letter form, raised a doubt as to the 
existence of the MS. alluded to, and, after quoting from the third book of 

80* 



354 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

Landwi'iting. It is preserved with the greatest care, under a 
glass case. I was not aware that it was in the place until my 

<' Paradise Lost," some lines in wliich the poet makes mention of his 
blindness, closed his communication with this confident interrogation : — 

*' Now, gentlemen, do you think that your corresj)ondent saw the ' ori- 
ginal of " Paradise Lost" in Milton's own handwriting?' " 

To which the editors of the "Courier" replied as follows: — 

"In spite of the views presented by our correspondent, and of his tri- 
umphant query, we do think that ' Pedestrian' saw the original of ' Para- 
dise Lost' in Milton's own handwriting. ' Pedestrian's' assertion that he 
he did so would be very satisfactory to us upon the point, if not perfectly 
conclusive, even if it were not entirely consistent with the recorded facts 
in the case. ' A Subscriber' seems to take it for granted that, -because 
Milton was blind during the composition of a part of 'Paradise Lost,' he 
was so during the composition of the whole of it ; and also to be ignorant 
of the fact that Milton's great poem was written first in the form of a Dra- 
matic Mystery. Such, however, was the case. It was written twice thus 
by his own hand : and then, abandoning that plan, he was ten years in 
writing the Epic as we now have it. A perfect manuscript copy of this 
epic Milton showed to El wood the Quaker in 1665, taking it out of a 
bureau where it had probably lain completed for some time. Now, as 
INIilton was not blind until 1652, or perhaps 1654, it is very evident that 
the original of ' Paradise Lost' must have been composed when he had 
the full use of his eyes. 

"But as to the existence of the MS., the following from Mitford's 'Life 
of Milton,' Pickering's edition, is conclusive : — 

"'Milton describes himself as long choosing, and beginning late the 
subject of his poem ; and when that was selected, it was at first wrought 
into a dramatic form, like some of the ancient Mysteries. There were 
two plans of the tragedy, both of which are preserved among the manu- 
scripts at Trinity College, Cambridge.' 

"The noble apostrophe to light in which the allusion to the poet's blind- 
ness occurs was probably not included in the first plan of the poem ; at 
least, it does not follow of necessity that it was, and the allusion itself 
was certainly an after-thought. Some have found in the third book which 
this apostrophe opens, an internal evidence of Milton's blindness, aside 
from his direct assertion. They reason thus. Milton's early poems 
show, in their descriptions of nature, a strong feeling for color, which is 
comparatively wanting in the description of Paradise in this book : this 
was the result of the blindness of the writer, in whose memory the glow 
of nature had faded out. "VYc think not thus. Milton had merely passed 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 355 

attention was directed to it by the librarian; and even the contem- 
plation of the penmanship of the illustrious poet was a gratifica- 
tion. The chirography is exceedingly good and quite distinct, 
although somewhat cramped, as if the author wrote with the side 
of the pen. The poem of " Lycidas/' one of Milton's most beauti- 
ful minor productions, occupies the page facing the title of '' Para- 
dise Lost,'' and a person accustomed to MS. can read every word 
of it with ease. Another great curiosity is Newton's telescope, 
said to have been manufactured under his immediate superintend- 
ence, and the instrument by aid of which he was enabled to 
observe the motions of the heavenly bodies. It is an ungainly 
object, and contrasts unfavorably with the splendid telescopes of 
our day. 

Nearly all the colleges are Gothic structures, quadrangular in 
form ; and some of them have several court-yards within their 
limits. St. John's is a grand old place, and lies on both sides of 
the famous Cam, the most imposing part, however, being on the 
opposite side of the stream from the majority of the buildings. 

from youth to age ; his sensuous notions were dulled, while his mental 
powers were in their full activity. Now, color embodies no thought, and 
gives but little aid in exciting sentiment : its ofi&ce is almost purely that 
of bestowing sensuous pleasure, Milton, like other artists, felt this, 
even if he did not assert it directly to himself; and hence the mere effects 
of color were comparatively slighted by him, in his picture of the earthly 
Paradise. Light and shade have not these sensuous (we say not sen- 
sual) offices. Their office, being connected with the idea of form and re- 
lation, is one of thought and sentiment ; and hence they are strongly used 
by Milton throughout his work, which is one of consummate and con- 
scious art. The strength with which he opposes them was a result of his 
blindness. His word-painting of material objects was from the model 
furnished by a memory of forever-lost glories of day; and these, by 
poignant regret, could not but have been enhanced to the mental chiaro 
scuro of Rembrandt. The same moral reason would have insured a more 
glowing picture of the colors of his Paradise, had he not learned by age 
and an entirely reflective life to rate low the mere sensuous pleasure be- 
stowed by color." 

I give the remarks entire, as they are valuable for the information they 
contain, and a proof positive of my declaration that I did ''see the ori- 
ginal of ' Paradise Lost' in Milton's own handwriting." 



856 

The front of this edifice is really noble, and may not unjustly be 
called the finest structure in Cambridge for purely college pur- 
poses. The two sections have communication by means of a deli- 
cate bridge across the Cam, which is romantically named the Bridge 
of Sighs, in consequence of its being a copy of the celebrated 
Venetian structure of that name. It was at St. John's that 
Henry Kirke White died while a student there, and he lies 
buried in the Church of All-Saints near by, where there is a 
beautiful tribute to his memory from the chisel of Chantrey, 
erected at the expense of an American gentleman from Boston. 
King's College Chapel is the most gorgeous sacred edifice in the 
city, and surpasses every religious structure that Oxford caij boast, 
in elaborate ornament and delicate finish. The interior is 300 
feet long, but the width does not appear sufficient for the length. 
The roof is sustained and ornamented by fretted fan-tracery, sup- 
ported by clustered vaulting shafts, which spring from corbels in 
the walls, the whole being eighty feet high from the floor. The 
windows are of richly stained glass, representing scriptural subjects, 
and the ante-chapel walls are ornamented with arms in marble, 
formed of the crown and roses, having reference to the union of 
the Houses of York and Lancaster. The floor is inlaid with black 
and white marble, and the stalls are of carved oak. Between the 
ante-chapel and the main portion of the edifice stands a rich oak 
screen, but not so high as to obstruct the view from end to end of 
the building. It is said to be the gift of Anne Boleyn to the 
College, and contains the royal arms in several places, with the 
initials H. and A. in large characters. The view from the leads 
is picturesque in the extreme, and the eye takes in at a glance 
the quaint old city, and its numerous seats of learning. These 
stately edifices meet the beholder at every turn, and their Grothic 
pinnacles and massive towers stand like lofty sentinels watching 
over the court-yards below, and the suburban-like city. A visit 
to one or two of the larger colleges gives the observer an idea of 
all, and an examination of the exterior of the smaller ones, after 
viewing the interior of the larger, is sufficient for the stranger. 
There are schools, besides those mentioned, worthy of attention, 
and Christ's College is one of them, being the place in which 



357 

Milton received his education. The gardens are beautiful, and 
there is a mulberry-tree in the ground said to have been planted 
by the author of " Paradise Lost." It is preserved with care, and 
held in reverence ; and I was told that it was customary, when a 
bough falls off, to apportion it among the fellows, to be by them 
kept as a sacred memento of Milton. The trunk is so much 
decayed as to require to be banked up with earth to the first 
branches, and there is every appearance of its soon dying. 

The town of Cambridge is different, in general, from Oxford, 
and not so compact as that city. It is favored with finer walks 
and pleasure-grounds, but does not possess the solid, sombre, 
Gothic character so peculiar to Oxford. There are some modern 
edifices in it of fine dimensions and architectural beauty, the most 
finished of which is the Fitzwilliam Museum, a noble structure. 
It contains, among other objects of interest, a splendid collection 
of pictures, the works of the old masters, among which are seve- 
ral exquisite Claudes. 

A market-day occurred during ray sojourn in Cambridge, and 
I had an opportunity of observing the throngs that filled the 
market-place, but saw little in the general appearance of the 
people diff"erent from what is presented on similar occasions in 
other towns. The rustics were a stupid, clownish set, and far 
from intelligent. Some of those with whom I conversed told me 
that they were farm-hands, and complained of the want of em- 
ployment, stating that when they could get work they seldom 
earned over seven shillings per week, and that did not support 
their families. In the winter season, when they have but little 
or nothing to do, it is with difficulty that they manage to live. A 
shilling a day is the usual wages, and not one in five has constant 
employment at that miserable pittance during the cold weather. 
One man told me that he had not eaten a piece of meat for four 
months, and lived on oatmeal bread, cheese, and ale. He did not 
have a healthy look, nor could it be expected that he would under 
such a regimen. The wealthy student, or contented tradesman, 
pays but little attention to the starving rustic, and while enjoying 
the superfluities of life rarely dreams that his rural neighbors are 



858 

suffering for the common necessaries of existence, and, although 
called freemen, are in reality the slaves of want. Cambridge, of 
a market-day, presents a contrast of poverty and wealth not to be 
forgotten. 

The country, from the University city to Norwich, is, with but 
little exception, quite level and wet. The surface is intersected 
by broad drains, constructed to conduct the waters from the fens, 
and the villages are mostly comfortless in appearance. But few 
hedges are to be seen ; fences of wood being in more general use, 
and not many of them. The ditches serve the double purpose, 
in most places, of fence and drain. Large windmills abound, 
and the broad arms of their propelling sails remind the traveller 
of the heroic exploits of the famous knight of La Mancha. 
Each establishment presents a bold front to the breeze, and when 
the sails revolve, the beholder from the Western World cannot 
divest his mind of the idea that the tall tower is possessed with 
life. In passing through the country by rail, I had no opportu- 
nities of close observation, and was obliged to be content with 
such glances at the landscape as my situation afforded. We made 
a short stay at the cathedral town of Ely, and had a good view of 
its stately fane, one of the largest edifices of the kind in the country. 
It is on a commanding elevation, and is easily seen at the distance 
of ten miles. Like all cruciform structures, it stands east and 
west, with transepts to the north and south, but differs from others 
by having two towers in front, and a massive octagonal lantern 
over the cross. The town itself has no pretensions to beauty, and 
when I was there, was viewed under decided disadvantages. Be- 
tween it and Norwich the land is low, and the settlements or 
dwellings few. The country partakes of the characteristics pecu- 
liar to all low, sandy, pine-growing soils, and for miles houses are 
not to be seen. The system of farming in England differs from 
that of the United States, and it is only in certain sections that 
the traveller notices noble farm-houses and barns, such as abound 
in the old settled portions of our Republic. Occasionally, one 
sees a fine hall or baronial residence ; but such are the houses 
of the wealthy, and not of the fiirmers. Cottages peep out at in- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 359 

tervals on the route, but not those the poetess sings of when she 
breaks forth, in ecstatic strains — 

"■ The cottage homes of Euglaud, how beautiful they are !" 

For, as to beauty, they have none; and as to the accompaniments 
to that agreeable charm of a cottage, healthy situation and com- 
fort, they belong to few of the rustic homes I saw in the rural 
districts. The houses of the peasantry are wretched tiled or 
straw-thatched hovels, ill ventilated, badly warmed, indifferently 
lighted, and surrounded by imperfectly drained lands. But few 
of them appear to be the abodes of content; and if a person 
imagines that article is to be found in an English cottage, all he 
has to do is to look into one and satisfy himself. 

This route lay through the ancient town of Thetford, famous in 
the days of the Catholic supremacy for its numerous churches and 
monasteries. The remains of one of the priories form part of a 
barn at present; and of the seventeen or twenty churches once 
contained in the place, only three exist entire. The principal in- 
terest the town has for the tourist, at this day, is the fact of its 
having been the birth place of Tom Paine, the political and infidel 
writer. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

NORWICH — CHURCHES — PEOPLE — ITS TREADMILL — LOWESTOFT 

YARMOUTH FARM HANDS AND FARMERS FALSTAFF'S 

CASTLE — ACLE — FARMING AND PRODUCTS — VILLAGE PREACH- 
ERS — WHERRIES. 

Dull, rainy weather is by no means calculated to give a man 
a favorable impression of any place, and as Norwich is one of the 
dirtiest of the cities of the kingdom, and does not show well even 
in clear weather, it would not be just to describe it as I saw it 
full of mud and dirt. It is the ancient capital of Eastern En- 



3G0 

gland, and indifferently built in a valley and on the sides of a 
range of sand-hills near the Elver "Wensum. The streets are the 
narrowest it was ever my lot to perambulate, and the footwalks of 
some are not wide enough to allow two persons to walk abreast 
with comfort, and are paved with round pebbles similar to those 
used in the streets of American cities. There are but few modern 
edifices in it, and the older ones are in many instances dilapidated, 
and decidedly ugly. The castle, a large, square Norman structure, 
occupies a commanding position on a hill in the centre of the city, 
and the cathedral, a fine edifice, lies in the valley near the river, 
and with its tall, graceful spire forms a beautiful ornament to the 
place. Churches are abundant, there being no less than forty-two 
of the Establishment alone, besides nearly as great a number of 
chapels belonging to the various sects of Christians. When 
viewed from Castle Hill, the city is picturesque in the extreme, 
and its many church towers give it the appearance of an Eastern 
town filled with innumerable mosques. Some of the churches are 
large and well built; but the great majority of them are quite 
contracted, and constructed of boulder, or a mixture of flint and 
stone, which does not have a pleasing effect to the eye. A large 
cattle-market is held every Saturday, in a space devoted to the 
purpose on the Castle Hill, and the number of animals sold on 
such days is great. The farmers of Norfolk have the reputation 
of raising the best beef and mutton in the kingdom, and the spe- 
cimens they exhibit in Norwich are no discredit to them. The 
cattle are large and fat, and the sheep are the very perfection of 
that animal. The sales are usually effected with little noise or 
bustle, and droves pass from one owner to another so quietly that 
a stranger scarcely knows whether a sale has been made or not. 

Norwich is the largest city in England. This assertion may 
appear incredible to some readers who have London before their 
eyes. But it must be borne in mind that the city of London is 
but a contracted affair, and if a man were to stump his toe 
on one of its boundary lines, he would most likely fall into one 
of the adjoining districts. There are there a city proper, and 
a host of subdivisions or outer sections, while Norwich is under 
one jurisdiction and of considerable extent, having a population 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 861 

of 70.000 nearly. Neither Mancliester nor Liverpool is a city; 
that name belongs exclusively to cathedral towns, and is only 
given to those places which sustain a bishop. 

The city of Norwich was walled in years gone by ) but its walls 
have been sujBfered to go to decay, and all that remains of them 
now are detached fragments, and one or two towers. The bridges 
over the Wensum are mean affairs, and although the inhabitants 
will call one of them the " Bridge of Sighs," there is nothing 
about it worthy of note, except that it is anything but a sizable 
bridge. If the contractors for street-cleaning were compelled to 
perform what they have agreed to do, the city would appear much 
better than it does; but it is believed that the person contracting 
is a good fellow^ and because he is such he is allowed by the 
authorities to pocket the people's money, and permit them to 
clean the streets themselves. 

I noticed fewer beggars in Norwich than elsewhere in England; 
but that does not argue the non-existence of suffering among the 
poor. The agricultural laborers of the country, adjacent to the 
city, receive a miserable pittance for their labor, and the conse- 
quence is that the Union workhouses are full of those people in 
the winter season, when employment is scarce. The difficulty of 
obtaining work had caused many men to abscond from their 
families, and there were bills posted up around Norwich by the 
authorities, offering rewards for the arrest of certain persons 
named and described, who had left their families chargeable to 
the parish. These posters and printed descriptions of absconding 
married men reminded me of handbills announcing runaway ne- 
groes, and the manner in which some of the persons were described 
was quite as full and particular as any account ever given of a 
fugitive from servitude. 

The hospitality of the citizens of Norwich is proverbial, and 
my residence there was one of enjoyment. Those with whom I 
associated were intelligent and liberal-minded; tolerably informed 
respecting the United States, and not blindly prejudiced against 
our institutions. They did not underrate our rapid progress, nor 
profess to regard us as savages. I am satisfied that the notions 
once prevalent in England, as to the manners and habits of our 
31 



362 

people, are fast vanishing, and the stories of the Trollopes, Mar- 
tineaus, and Marrjatts are no longer believed by intelligent peo- 
ple. The well-informed look across the great deep to our shores 
with high hopes for the future, and an honest pride thrills the 
liberal Englishman's heart when he reflects that the great Kepub- 
lic of the West sprang from the seed of Albion's Isle. Norwich 
sent many delegates to the settlement at Plymouth Rock, and the 
county of Norfolk is well represented by her descendants in the 
States of New England. ^' Who reads an American book?'' was 
sneeringly asked by a British critic some years ago, and no one 
could answer ; but now all England wants to hear full particulars 
respecting the United States, and books about us and books pro- 
duced by us are to be met with in every well-stored library in the 
land, both public and private. 

Norwich Castle belongs to the county of Norfolk, and serves 
the purpose of a prison. The criminals are employed at the use- 
ful and intellectual labor of turning a tread-mill in punishment 
for their crimes, and they tread upon the revolving wheel with a 
cautious and slow step, as if perfectly conscious of having their 
tender shins barked provided they don't " push along, keep mov- 
ing." Oddly enough they look as they plod their way over the 
steps of the tireless wheel, and the rumbling axle is the only 
music to which they march. There they go, but never advance, 
and the regularity with which they raise their feet is amuse- 
ment to the beholder if not pleasure to themselves. Before them 
are the blank, wooden walls ; at their sides the partitions which 
separate them ; and beneath their feet the moving surface of 
the instrument of punishment. Each man is dressed in a suit 
of coarse striped clothing, and each is as completely isolated from 
his neighbor as if he were treading alone upon the axle of the 
North Pole. Not a word is spoken, not a murmur heard, nothing 
like the sound of the " human voice divine" breaks upon the ear ; 
and so they live within hearing of each other, those imprisoned 
men, yet pass their days like so many mutes. The vigilant 
keeper never relaxes his watch, and no opportunity is afforded for 
conversation. It is a fortunate thing that all are men, for such 
a punishment would be death to women. At certain hours of the 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 363 

day, they are allowed a few minutes' recreation, and pace up and 
down the yards attached to the cells, but no talking is allowed ; 
that is a crime, and the imprisoned must submit to the discipline 
of the place, and be content to move among each other like things 
devoid of speech. I think the system cruel ; but not so the 
governors. They call it good, and say it produces rich fruits. 
No vicious acquaintances are formed ; but few leave the prison at 
the same time ; not one knows the other's name ; and they meet 
and separate, not knowing who or what the other is. The cells are 
clean and comfortable, well lighted, well ventilated, well kept. 
But there's the silence eternal — the solitude of the grave. A 
Bible and prayer-book comprise the library of each, and perhaps 
from these some derive a consolation which serves them instead 
of companions. The splendid language of Holy Writ may de- 
light, aside from its heavenly teachings; but who is to tell? No 
questions are asked, and no communications made, and if pleasure 
is the result of the reading, it is known and felt only by the 
caged human being who occupies the silent cell. Many of the 
inmates of Norwich Castle might, if they dared, exclaim, in the 
language of liobinson Crusoe, that they 

" Never hear tlie sweet music of speech, 
And start at the sound of their own!" 

As Norwich is a central station, from which excursions can 
easily be made to the most interesting places in Norfolk, I con- 
verted it into my head-quarters for a short time, and took trips 
from it to the adjacent country. The railway and stage commu- 
nication existing between the city and places of note in the vicinity 
is great, and a man can readily make journeys of forty or fifty 
miles and return in a day, and have suiBcient time allowed him 
for viewing the towns he visits. I went down to the coast, and 
passed some hours very pleasantly at Lowestoft, a small seaport 
in Suffolk. The town is perched upon a hill overlooking the 
German Ocean, and carries on a considerable trade with the mari- 
time nations of northern continental Europe, in addition to a large 
traffic with London and the ports of the island to the north. 
The summer season attracts thousands of pleasure-seekers to the 



364 

place, and there are few finer beaches in the world for sea-bathing 
and promenading than that of Lowestoft. The companion of my 
rambles was an English lady of most amiable character and 
refined manners, and withal handsome, vivacious, and intelligent. 
We strolled slowly along the sandy rim of the restless deep, and, 
like children, gathered the shells cast up by the ever-heaving sea. 
The surging breakers crashed in thunders on the shore, and re- 
coiled again into their yeasty caldron, leaving their white surf 
to sink into the sand. My cheerful companion heeded not the 
waves, but her bright eye sparkled like the watery pearls flung 
to the winds, and the breeze of the ocean developed the rose of 
England on her pretty cheek. The sea might roar, the- spray 
might foam and fly, the wind might dash the surf over us, we 
laughed at them all ; and as each succeeding wave washed away 
our foot-prints from the sand, we pressed another and another on 
the yielding beach, and joyously as- the waters that danced before 
us, drank from the sunny atmosphere and the light of each other's 
face the nectar of delight. Some of England's daughters are the 
perfection of women, and the beauty at my side was and is one 
of the most glorious of her sex. I was not mad, nor yet bewitched ; 
but just imagine to yourself, dear reader, the pleasures of a stroll 
along old ocean's rim with such a syren as walked the sands with 
me, and if you can resist an outburst of deep and holy feeling, 
then I don't envy you your nature. It is a joy for a lone stranger 
to meet with pleasant female company in a foreign land, and I 
was fortunate in my acquaintance there. That visit to Lowestoft 
will not soon be erased from my memory, and should I never 
again tread that beach I will often recall it to mind, and imagine 
myself on it with my amiable companion. We made the most of 
our time, and our walks extended to the esplanade, the pier, and 
the streets of the quiet town. From the clifl"s we had some fine 
prospects of the sea and the countless sails that dotted its glassy 
surface. A fleet of several hundred vessels was in sight of all 
sizes, from the wherry to barks and full-rigged ships, but mostly 
craft of two masts of the schooner build, nearly all of which trade 
coastwise or with the adjacent shores of Sweden, Denmark, and 
Holland. The point of land on which Lowestoft stands is one of 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 365 

the most easterly of the island, and vessels going either north or 
south generally pass in sight of it. Five hundred sail are often 
seen at once, and the ocean then presents a gay appearance. 
Ships move slowly by, steamers roll the black smoke from their 
funnels and glide swiftly on, the light wherry cleaves the waves 
like a sea-bird, and the continual change of position among the 
vessels creates an exciting scene. The harbor of the town is not 
uninteresting, and there can be seen the dull sailing Dutchman, 
the black collier from Newcastle, and the sharp, rakish revenue 
cutter of her Majesty's customs service. Take it all in all, Lowes- 
toft is a pleasant place, and the visitor will not soon tire of it. 
The sharp sea breeze improves his appetite, and if he be so fortu- 
nate as to have an intelligent companion with him he will not 
regret his trip to the town. 

The country around it is marshy and low — crossed by drains, 
and traversed by streams ; and windmills innumerable are dotted 
over the level land. These concerns are used for pumping water 
from the ditches, and are*almost constantly in motion. The creak 
of their sails can be heard at every turn, and look in what 
direction you please, you see their broad arms slowly moving 
through the air. Grazing is the principal business of the farmer, 
and thousands of cattle are fed upon the lands, and sold to dealers 
from Norwich and London. The occupier has no tithes to pay, 
and therefore does not complain so bitterly about free-trade as the 
farmer who raises grain ; and, instead of losing money, generally 
amasses considerable of that very important and desirable article. 
The rustics get but a trifle for their labor, and it is a difficult 
thing for one to say how they live on seven shillings per week, 
that beinsj the usual wao;es of farm hands in these marshes. The 
farmer realizes wealth and lives comfortably, while the laborer 
starves through years, and at last dies in a "Union.'' 

Yarmouth, another seaport within twenty miles of Norwich, 
but ten or twelve miles to the north of Lowestoft, is a famous 
place, and is resorted to greatly in the warm season by sea-bathers 
and pleasure-seekers. It has a beach of several miles in length, 
and commands a splendid ocean view similar to that of Lowestoft. 
It has more trade than its sister port, and more extensive wharves, 

31* 



366 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

but does not appear to be greatly superior to it in other respects. 
The streets are wide and tolerably clean, but there are what are 
called "Rows" running from the principal thoroughfares, which 
are no more than ordinary alleys of four feet in width, and in 
these are the dwellings of the greater part of the poor population. 
Narrow, and badly paved, they do not much invite attention, and 
if one is seen the stranger is usually satisfied with all. There is 
a long pier or jetty extending out into the sea, and a low level 
plain of one or two miles in length and about one mile wide, 
called the "Yarmouth Denes," on which is a tall Doric column to 
the memory of Nelson, and several forts erected to resist the at- 
tacks of Paul Jones during his cruise off the coast in our revolu- 
tionary war. The inhabitants are chiefly employed in marine 
pursuits and herring fishing. Thousands of the finny tribe are 
annually caught and prepared for market, and the trade is one of 
the main supports of the place. Like most sea-coast tov/ns, it 
stands on a sandy plain, and for miles around the countr}^ is 
level and tiresome to view. Sand, sand, land is nearly everywhere, 
and marshes, divided by ditches and small running streams, sur- 
round the place. The sails of the wherries occasionally break 
the monotony of the flat landscape, but there is nothing to cause 
the stranger to desire a residence at Yarmouth. It is the fifth 
port in England in amount of tonnage, and like Lowestoft carries 
on a large trade with the Baltic and Sweden. 

The method of farming in England is very different from that 
practised in the United States, and necessarily so, from the dissi- 
milarity of the customs of the two countries. In that part of the 
■world, the cultivator of the soil is seldom, if ever, the owner, while 
in our land it is just the reverse. There the farmer rents a large 
or small tract of land from one of the great proprietors, and 
hires his laborers at a small salary per day, he himself lording it 
over his rustic servants with as much pomp and circumstance as a 
West Indian over his slaves. The farm-houses are generally 
small, and seldom more than straw-thatched cottages. Sometimes, 
and most frequently, the cultivator or renter of land lives in a 
village and dresses in fashionable style, scarcely ever condescend- 
ing to put his hand to labor, and only exercising a directing power 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 367 

over bis employees. The laborers regard bim with reverence, and 
look up to bim with fear, as one superior to tbemselves, and be 
generally considers sucb marks of respect and bora age as bis by 
rigbt. Probably no classes of Englisb society exhibit the differ- 
ence of caste so thoroughly as the rustic farm-laborer and the 
gentleman farmer. The one looks upon the toiler with contempt 
and indifference ; while the other regards the renter with dread 
and wonder. The workingman earns the wretched pittance of a 
shilling a day by toiling from daylight to dark, and lives in a 
miserable hovel on oatmeal cake, or some equally coarse food, 
seldom or never enjoying the luxury of a piece of meat. He rarely 
has more than one suit of clothing, and that of the roughest fabric; 
and oftentimes cannot obtain employment even at a shilling a day. 
Some of these men have large families to support, but by what 
species of necromancy they do it, it is hard to divine. Many of 
them obtain parish relief, and drag out a life of pauperism of the 
meanest character. They are not slaves, they are not marketable 
cattle; but they do, in certain sections of the country, stand in 
the market-place at a particular time in the year, and ask persons 
to give them employment. This is a custom in Norfolk; and in 
the large market-towns men and women range themselves in rows 
on market-days, in the markets, as the slaves are ranged in New 
Orleans, and ask the passers-by to hire them as servants. 

I was met by appointment at Yarmouth by a farmer living 
near the village of Acle, and went with bim in his own convey- 
ance to his house. The rain beat against us fiercely as we drove 
in an open vehicle over the dull, flat, marshy lands through which 
lay our route, and a distant view of the ruins of Caistor Castle, 
the stronghold and residence of the family of Shakspeare's im- 
mortal Sir John Falstaff, was the only object to interest me on 
the drive. Night closed in before we reached our destination ; 
when we did arrive, eyes were there that grew brighter with* 
our coming, and the homebrewed and roast beef of Old England 
supplied the cravings of the inner man, while the blazing fire 
and the cheerful faces of my entertainers made me feel at home. 
I was hospitably entertained for a week at Acle, and passed the 



368 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

time in rural simplicity. Mine host was a cheerful, friendly man, 
a fair specimen of the superior English farmer, and devotedly 
wedded to the customs of his class. He cultivates about three 
hundred acres of marsh land, and employs but few hands; but such 
as he does, he pays well and treats kindly. His house is pleas- 
antly situated near a stream of considerable magnitude for the 
country, and as it is navigable, he has abundant facilities for get- 
ting his produce to market, and realizes fair profits. The rent is 
what would be called high in the United States, and a man can 
purchase good land here for the annual sum he pays as rental 
there for land of indifferent quality. His farm is considered 
cheap, but it is difficult to see wherein the cheapness consists, 
when it is known that he pays seven dollars and fifty cents per 
acre rent, besides taxes, poor-rates, etc. He can get better land 
in AVestern Virginia for two dollars an acre clear title, and be al- 
most as near a market as he is now, without the encumbrance 
of heavy taxes, although he may be obliged to live in compara- 
tive retirement. 

There is more care in the cultivation of the land in some sec- 
tions of England than in others ; but, as a general rule, I cannot 
say that the soil is better farmed than in many cases with us. 
They cultivate every inch, and, consequently, the farms have a 
highly improved appearance. The climate keeps the grass richly 
green the whole year through, and the American can scarcely 
imagine why it is so. But the sequel is the moisture of the 
atmosphere, and the mildness of the summers and winters. In 
every section of the country the traveller sees turnips in the 
ground in the cold weather, there not being sufficient frost to in- 
jure them. This vegetable is much cultivated, and is used as food 
for cattle. Grains are grown to a great extent, and grazing is 
followed by nearly every farmer. Orchards of fruit-trees are 
seldom seen in the eastern counties ; and, in fact, it may be said 
that there are few orchards in England excepting those of Devon- 
shire and Somerset. 

The village of Acle is small and pretty, being situated on an 
elevated piece of land which rises from the flat marshy district 
lying between Norwich and the sea-coast. It is irregularly built, 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 3G9 

like all English bamlets, but that very irregularity gives it beauty. 
The church is a neat Gothic structure, with a square tower of con- 
siderable altitude, and contains a font quite singular in form and 
construction. I was agreeably surprised to hear a preacher so 
eloquent as the clergyman stationed there, and can give him credit 
for being the best speaker I heard in the Established Church. His 
calm, persuasive, argumentative tone, and unpresuming piety, won 
my admiration and esteem, and I listened to his sermon with 
satisfaction. His personal appearance was far from prepossessing ; 
but, although his face was not handsome, it was expressive of 
honesty and piety, and did not belie his character. 

It is a pleasure to meet such men in these latter days in the 
Church of England ; and as they preach Evangelical doctrine, and 
eschew the notions of Tractarians, they serve as props to the 
wavering fabric. This man lives in comparative obscurity among 
a rustic population, but he performs his part, and that as unos- 
tentatiously as Goldsmith's village clergyman. He resides in 
the old parsonage near the church, and renders unto the poor, in 
spirit and in store, such aid as he commands. It was pleasant 
to see the villagers gather round him after service, 

**To pluck the good man's gown and share his smile." 

They took delight in being recognized by him, and he appeared 
equally delighted to behold them, and exchange a few words with 
those who came near him. The church service was conducted in 
a solemnly devout manner, and I must say that I never heard it 
performed with so much effect before. The choristers sang with 
a heart, and did not strain after approbation ; the subordinate 
churchman read well, and the clergyman preached as a man in 
his holy calling should preach — with a belief in what he uttered, 
and a desire to do good to others. 

The country around Acle is very flat, and as the village stands 
on the highest ground in that section, views are aiforded of the 
surrounding district. Yarmouth, eleven miles distant, can be 
distinctly seen in clear weather, and the ocean, with its fleets of 
coasters, is visible to the naked eye. The marshes are intersected 
by drains and small rivers, and, in almost every section, windmills 



370 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

fight their way through the thick atmosphere. Their broad arms 
slash about like the swords of warriors, and, toweriug up as they 
do from the level plain, they give the landscape, in connection with 
the wherries that traverse the rivers, a picturesque appearance. 
Acle is one of the best places in the county from which to view 
the marshy district, and the scenery adjacent, although not rugged 
and imposing, is attractive and unusual. The rivers winding 
through the lands are very small streams, but navigable for 
wherries. These are a species of craft peculiar to Norfolk, and 
hard to describe. They vary in size from fifteen to twenty-five 
tons, have one mast that can be raised or lowered at will, and are 
usually sailed by a man and his wife, who live on board, and 
change their locality as business or duty requires. They sail very 
fast, and leap along the crooked little rivers like war-steeds, dash- 
ing the waves from their bows in sheets of foam. The sails are 
usually black or of a dirty brown, the hull much the same color, 
and the crew in character with sails and hull. They are used for 
conveying farm and other produce to market, and are to the rivers 
of the eastern counties of Englaifd, so far as carrying freight goes, 
what the steamboats of the West are to the mighty waters there. 



CHAPTER XL. 



A VISIT TO BLICKLING HALL, THE BIRTHPLACE OP ANNE 
BOLEYN. 

The County of Norfolk abounds in places closely connected 
with many of the great historical events of England, and its 
baronial halls are rich in objects of interest to the stranger. 
There are several in the vicinity of Norwich, and others a few 
miles distant, among which is Blickling, the birthplace of Anne 
Boleyn. I had considerable curiosity to see the famous hall, and 
in company with two companions paid it a visit.- We left the 
city at an early hour, and drove through one of the most pic- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 371 

turesque sections of the countrjj passing on our route numerous 
villages and princely dwellings. The landscape did not present 
the rich aspect peculiar to the country in the spring, but never- 
theless it looked gay, and the balmy weather sufficed in a great 
measure for the absence of foliage from the trees. The village 
churches, with their ivy-covered towers and antique walls, always 
riveted my attention, and the quiet parsonages looked the very 
abodes of earthly happiness. Clambering vines were wreathed 
around the oriel windows, and snowdrops and primroses modestly 
peeped up from the green sward around, and lent a charm to those 
pleasant abodes. At a distance we could see the hamlets and 
their sharp church spires or square towers, and the skylarks sang 
their matin song in the clear sky above our heads. The weather 
was as soft and mild as early spring with us, and I could scarcely 
satisfy myself that it was February in England, the atmosphere 
was so different from what my preconceived notions of it at this 
season were. We made a short stay at the town of Aylsham, the 
largest on our route, and as the church is the greatest attraction 
of the place we bent our steps towards it. The grass was brightly 
green on the numerous hillocks in the burial-ground, and the old 
church gray with age. Its tall tower commands a view of the 
surrounding country, and can be seen for miles in almost every 
direction. The sacred pile is large, and has a number of tablets 
on its walls to the memory of the gentry of the neighborhood, 
and some tombs, in the aisles, of long-forgotten families. The 
principal windows are of stained glass, the designs being the 
armorial bearings of the titled residents of the parish and adjacent 
country. I noticed one tomb in the ground on which there was 
an epitaph in itself original and worth copying. The stone is 
over the grave of a lawyer, and the verse as follows : — 

" Not like Egyptian tyrants consecrate, 
Unmixed with others shall my dust remain, 
But mouldering, blending, melting into earth, 
Mine shall give form and color to the rose, 
And while its varied blossoms cheer mankind 
Its fragrant odors shall ascend to Heaven!" 

It seldom happens that the mortal remains of a U7nb of the 



372 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

law nurture roses to delight mankind, and it is a gratification to 
be told that the body of one of the honorable profession is useful 
after death, and smells more of the attar gul than of fees and 
parchment. 

A further drive of three miles along a fine road brought us to 
Blickling Hall, and after having our horses cared for at the inn 
near by, and ourselves refreshed and rested before the bright fire 
in the parlor, we went over to the aristocratic mansion, and 
were welcomed in true English style by the persons in charge of 
the dwelling, for the family was absent. We ascended a broad 
flight of oaken steps, and were ushered into a hall of great extent, 
the floors of which were of solid oak, white as scrubbing could 
make them, and after many cordial grasps of the hand and con- 
gratulations upon our arrival, we were served from the cellar with 
tankards of foaming homebrewed ale, and from the larder with 
Cheshire cheese and a cold cut of roast beef. The enlivening 
beverage quickened our colloquial powers, and the cheerful faces 
of the ladylike housekeeper and laundress, to say nothing of the 
bright eyes of the waiting-maids, made us for the time feel indif- 
ferent to worldly cares; and as I enjoyed the ale and the society 
of the hall, I could not resist calling to mind the peerless Boleyn 
and her countless suitors, from the gallant knight down to Royal 
Harry. And then the Falstaff's once occupied Blickling ; and who 
knows but what that roaring wassailer. Sir John, of Shakspeare's 
masterly pen, might have revelled in the very room in which 
I now sat, surrounded by some of England's matchless girls, with 
^' bright blue eyes and brown hair lightly curling ?" Away with 
conjecture ! When in Blickling, I was in a congenial spot, and for 
the first time realized my idea of an English hall and good old 
English cheer. There were the high ceilings, the oaken floors 
and wainscoting, the antique upright chairs, the ladylike domestics, 
the tapestried rooms, the pictured walls, the roaring fireplace, the 
gentlemanly butler, the well-stored vaults, the massive plate, the 
savory odors of viands, and the very air of baronial dignity and 
rural aristocratic comfort. The long galleries and numerous 
rooms, the spacious library, stored with thousands of volumes, 
the halls, the bedchambers, the drawing-rooms, the parlors, the 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 373 

grounds, the parks, all were visited by us, and were enjoyed as 
far as seeing went. The pictures are nothing to boast of, and 
the only one worth naming is a portrait of Charles the First by 
Vandyke, and a good picture it is too, but its authenticity may 
be questioned. Every loyal English gentleman in the realm, that 
can afford it, has a portrait of the martyred monarch, by Van- 
dyke; and, at a moderate estimate, there must be a hundred of 
such pictures by the Flemish artist in England, if we believe all 
we are told. But I do not credit all that is said of pictures, and 
take for granted that these original Vandykes are mostly imita- 
tions of the great painter. It would have taken him a lifetime 
to paint one moiety of what is attributed to him, and then they 
could not be good. His style is easily copied, and his Charles 
the First has been imitated so well that but few can tell the ori- 
ginals from the copies. Go where you will, where there is a pic- 
ture-gallery, and lo ! '^ Charles the First, by Vandyke,'^ meets 
your startled vision, and you begin to marvel at the amazing 
industry of the artist who has left so many fac-similes of the 
beheaded king. He must have worked night and day to have 
completed one-half of those accredited to him; and, as he painted 
other pictures besides portraits of Charles, it is no more than fair 
to acquit him of having painted all the Charleses attributed to 
him at this day. But I must away from the pictures, and 
speak of something of more interest, if I can find a more inte- 
resting subject to speak about. The grand staircase is very im- 
posing, and although not so richly ornamented as that of North- 
umberland House in London, is much more effective. The stairs 
are broad, the platforms wide, and the banisters carved and gilt 
in gorgeous style, with posts rising at intervals, above the top 
rail, on which are fio'ures of men in armor in various attitudes of 
defence. The niches on either side of the stairs are occupied by 
statues — one of Anne Boleyn, the other of her daughter. Queen 
Elizabeth. 

The exterior of the hail is in keeping with the interior, and is 
aristocratic in every point of view. What was once a moat still 
surrounds the building, and the drawbridge remains as in olden 
time. The house is quadrangular, with towers at e£U}h angle^ 



374 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY j 

and one immediately over the entrance-gate, and has two court- 
yards. It stands a few hundred yards from the high road, and 
is approached through grounds inclosed on either side by rows of 
small yew-trees, so trimmed and arranged as to form an avenue of 
fadeless green of great beauty. The parks are very extensive, 
containing full a thousand acres. There is a large lake on the 
estate, and groves of noble oaks, elms, and chestnuts, and nume- 
rous deer. The walks are many, some of them being overhung 
with the broad arms of massive trees, which afford shelter from 
the sun and rain, and have a truly Arcadian appearance. Here 
and there are flower-gardens, and even at the season of .which I 
write, midwinter, roses bloom in the open air in those homes of 
Flora. The primrose and snowdrop decked the mead, and the 
crocus modestly peeped up from the earth as if over-anxious for 
the breath of spring. If the grounds of Blickling arc always thus 
gay in winter, they must be a garden of Paradise in the time of 
flowers. 

The building occupies a beautiful site, and is imposing. There 
is a room near one of the towers in which, tradition says, the spirit 
of the father of the unfortunate queen, Anne Boleyn, was confined 
for over two hundred years. The story goes that he was impri- 
soned there for giving his consent to his daughter's union with the 
brutal Harry; and that he escaped from confinement only a few 
years ago, when the roof was raised for purposes of repair, at which 
time he took flight in a cloud of brimstone smoke, amid peals of 
thunder. The legend is popular among the rustics of the neigh- 
borhood, and is told by them with evident pleasure; not that they 
believe the story, but because there is a dash of romance in it that 
throws a charm over the hall, and makes it an object of greater in- 
terest to the curious than if no such tale were connected with its 
history. The tradition is cherished by the peasantry for the sake 
of their fathers; and as nearly every old mansion in the realm 
has some such harmless fable connected with it, it is meet that the 
stories be handed down from father to son, because of the plea- 
sure their repetition begets for the stranger and the lover of the 
marvellous. Superstition is at the foundation of such narratives, 
but the day is past when harm will result from their repetition; 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 375 

and the wanderer wlio goes thousands of miles to gaze on old ba- 
ronial halls will prize thera as highly for the traditions connected 
with them as for any other charm they may possess. Why do 
more tourists visit Kirk Alloway than Kilmarnock? Simply be- 
cause romance is blended with one — fact with the other. Burns 
invested the ruin with a halo by his writings, and merely pub- 
lished his rhymes in Kilmarnock ! and hence the ruin is famous — 
the town disregarded. We had a pleasant dinner-party in the old 
dining-room, sipped a social cup of tea, drank the prosperity of the 
residents in a bumper of homebrewed, and at a seasonable hour 
took a farewell of Blickling and its cheerful inmates, and with a 
lasting impression of the hospitality of the place on our memories, 
returned to Norwich. 



CHAPTER XLI. 

THE RESTING-PLACE OF WILLIAM COV>'PER. 

The readers of English poetry, in every section of the world, 
entertain a profound admiration for the character of the amiable 
poet Cowper; and, although the grave has closed over him for 
some years, his name is fresh in the memory of thousands, and he 
holds converse, through the medium of books, with gentle minds 
in every portion of the world in which the English tongue is 
spoken. The tone of pure piety that pervades his works makes 
him popular with old and young ; and his hymns are sung in 
great and in humble assemblages in both hemispheres. But few 
pilgrims to England pay a visit to his last resting-place ; and 
many persons may look upon the one who seeks out his grave as 
an enthusiast, and overwise in his admiration of the bard. I know 
not whether I am peculiar in having a penchant for visiting the 
last resting-place of the distinguished or not ; but I never yet 
passed one without examination, and looking at the objects of in- 
terest around. East Dereham, the burial-place of Cowper, is but 



376 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY] 

a few miles distant from Norwich, and being in the vicinity, I de- 
termined to extend my walk, and look upon the poet's grave. A 
slight crust of snow covered the earth, and the landscape wore a 
wintry aspect not in character with the weather recently so mild 
and balmy. I plodded my way along the highway between leaf- 
less hedges, and entered the town about midday, when the slug- 
gish denizens were just beginning to move about the streets. There 
was but little to merit my notice in the town itself, save the house 
in which the poet died ; and, after looking up one street and down 
another, wandering into the market-place and scrutinizing the in- 
habitants, I sought out the old church, and, on making inquiry, 
succeeded in securing the services of the clerk to show me through 
the sacred fane. The snow covered the countless graves in the 
churchyard, and hung on the leafless branches of the stately elms, 
whose boughs spread above the mouldering heaps, and afforded 
resting-places for the cawing rooks. The scene reminded me 
of the '^Winter Morning Walk;'^ and, as I was near the poet's 
tomb, and in the very town in which he composed his most cele- 
brated work, I felt a spirit of admiration not easily described. 
Before me stood the stately edifice, with its imposing and solid 
towers, while the bright rays of a clear sun fell softly on the car- 
pet of snow that hung, like a white shroud, over the graves of the 
humble dead. The landscape stretched away to the south, in 
wintry beauty, and the smoke from the distant cottages ascended, 
like incense, to Heaven. All was quiet, all was still ; and I would 
have stood, no doubt, for an hour contemplating the solemn yet 
pleasing prospect, had not the official mildly reminded me that his 
time was precious, and it was important that we should enter the 
sacred fane at once, if I desired to see the interior. I followed 
him into the chancel, where the softened rays of the sun streamed 
in mellowness through the richly-stained glass upon the sacred 
altar. There is nothing really gorgeous in the design of the win- 
dow, but the brilliant colors of the glass, tinged by the bright sun's 
rays, were sweet to behold ; and, although the church was cold, 
I enjoyed a feeling of comfort while gazing on the warm hues of 
the deep-stained glass. The poet is buried in the north chapel, 
and a small piece of brass is inserted in the stone covering the 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 377 

grave. A heavy, cumbrouSj ungraceful marble monument to his 
memory is erected in the window immediately over the tomb ; 
and a more inappropriate design for the memorial of such a man 
could not be conceived of. It is pyramidal in form, surmounted 
by representations in marble of the Bible, and another volume 
labelled ''The Task;" but they are so wretchedly executed, that 
one would scarcely suppose them intended to represent books. 
What was evidently designed for a branch of laurel is wreathed 
around the top of the monument, but it is no credit to the sculp- 
tor. The inscription is simple, and reads thus : — 

IN MEMORY OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esquire. 

Born in Hertfordshire, 1732, 

Buried in this church, 1800. 

Some lines follow; and on a tablet, at the side of the epitaph, is 
a memorial to Mrs. Unwin, the friend and companion of the poet. 
She is buried in one of the aisles of the nave, and a slab of mar- 
ble, with the simple record, 

MARY UNWIN, 
1796, 

is all that marks her grave. The guide was a talkative old man, 
and took evident pleasure in pointing out what of interest there 
is in the church. He had a distinct recollection of Cowper; 
but, as many such officials are blest with a personal knowledge 
of the distinguished dead intrusted to their keeping, I did not 
encourage the communicative clerk in his attempts to give me 
his impressions of the pious bard. I was content with what I 
saw, and not disposed to record the well-arranged story told me 
by my guide. He knew too much, and as he was not over fifty 
years of age, there was no reason for supposing him to be par- 
ticularly fond of the truth. What he said of Cowper may be 
true; but I cannot vouch for it, and therefore shall not record the 
story. 

The exterior of the East Dereham Church is imposing, and as 
the building is located on a gently sloping hill, and surrounded by 

32* 



378 THE FOOTPATH and highway] 

a large burial-ground, the views of it are numerous and good. 
There is a tower at a short distance from the main edifice, built 
in the reign of Henry the Eighth, to sustain the chime of bells, 
the one on the main edifice not being considered sufficiently strong. 
It has an odd appearance in its isolated position, and conveys to 
one's mind the idea that it is the sole ruin of a fallen church. 
But such is not the case ; its origin is as above stated, and it is 
used to this day for the purpose for which it was built. 

Dereham is a small place with but few streets, and they are 
mostly long and narrow, the houses not being more than two 
stories high as a general thing. It was once a busy, bustling 
town, in the glorious days of stage-coaches ; but its star of pros- 
perity has declined, and now there is but little business transacted, 
except on market-days, when the farmers and dealers from the 
adjoining country pour into it from railway carriages, instead of 
their own conveyances or the lamented coaches of old. There 
was nothing attractive beyond the poet's grave described, and I 
soon left the old town behind, and returned to the famous city of 
Norwich, ruminating on my way on my visit to Cowper's tomb. 



CHAPTER XLII. 

ENGLISH RAILWAYS. 

The railways of England are among the greatest attractions of 
the Island, and so numerous as to create some doubts as to the 
necessity for so many. There is scarcely a town, or considerable 
village, but has its station or depot, and the roads cross each other 
in every direction. New tracks are constantly in course of con- 
struction, and from present appearances there is every reason to 
believe that railways will be almost as general as turnpike roads 
before ten more years pass by. Every line is laid with double 
tracks, the gauges used being two : one four feet eight and a half 
inches, which is called the narrow — the other seven feet, or there- 



OR, WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 379 

about, and known as the wide gauge. The last named is not much 
in use, and I observed it in only two or three instances — on the 
Great Western road and its branches. The narrower scale is almost 
universal, and it is not an unusual thing to see the carriages of 
the southern railway companies on the Scottish lines. They are 
readily shifted from one road to another, and as a mutual under- 
standing exists between certain companies, by which each is 
allowed to travel the other's rails with their own cars, this fact is 
at once explained. In some cases, great rivalry exists, and it does 
occasionally happen that no favors are granted by opposition cor- 
porate bodies; but such things arc rare. During the summer of 
1851, when cheap excursion trains were all the rage, the Great 
Northern and Midland Counties companies were running in oppo- 
sition to each other, and the cars of the first named traversed the 
line of the other from Doncaster to York, a distance of some 
thirty miles, and each issued tickets from the same station in the 
latter city. The Great Northern paid the Midland Counties com- 
pany for the use of their road, and then carried passengers to 
London and back in competition with them for five shillings, a 
distance of more than two hundred miles. The same principle 
was carried out on other routes at that time, but the system was 
discontinued at the close of the Exhibition. The Great Northern 
is a new company, and the line runs through Peterborough, Lin- 
coln, and other cities of the eastern and central parts of the island, 
terminating at York. The rails were not down during the sum- 
mer to that city — not being laid further than Doncaster ; and it 
was in the power of the Midland Counties line to cut the Great 
Northern out of the York trade entirely, but they pursued the 
contrary course, and admitted their rival to a share of the traffic. 
The whole system of management difiers from that in use in 
the United States. The cars are of three distinct grades — first, 
second, and third. The first are cushioned and divided into apart- 
ments for six persons ; and are, in all respects, even more comfort- 
able and convenient than the cars in use in the States. One-half 
of the passengers are under the necessity of riding backwards, but 
that mode of travel is considered the better one by the English, 
because it does not expose the traveller to the draughts of air which 



880 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

rush through the carriage when the windows are open and the 
train is in motion. 

The second-class are plain, and without cushions, and in some 
instances very much contracted. They are usually divided into 
apartments for ten persons, five on a seat or bench; and in some 
instances the partitions by which they are separated are not higher 
than a man's shoulders when seated. The Scottish roads are pro- 
vided with much better carriages of this class than those of Eng- 
land, the most of them having cushioned seats. 

The third-class are worse, of course, than either of the two 
preceding, some of them being open to the weather, and without 
seats. Those that are covered are generally indifferent, but, as it 
is presumed by the companies that a man who travels in the third- 
class carriages is used to roughness, they never have a glass in the 
door to allow him to see out, and keep him in darkness as far as 
possible. You can, if you choose, let the slide down that is placed 
in the door, and then you can enjoy the breeze, and snuff the 
smoke and dust from the engine. There is a train called the 
Government or Parliamentary, which consists of good, comfortable, 
covered carriages, equally as convenient as the second-class, in 
which passengers are conveyed for a penny per mile; but the 
companies manage to arrange the time of departure of such from 
the principal stations at unseasonable hours, and thus throw 
obstacles in the way of those who desire to travel by them. They 
are, however, compelled to run one train of this character each 
way every day, for the accommodation of the people, and it is a 
bitter thing for them to comply with the law. Before the act was 
passed, the third-class carriages were usually mere pigstyes, without 
covering, and men were exposed to all kinds of weather when tra- 
velling in them, and obliged to stand up at that. Now it is differ- 
ent, and I would as readily travel in a Parliamentary, if I were not 
in a hurry, as in a second-class carriage. Thousands of tradesmen 
and genteel people go by these conveyances, and it seldom hap- 
pens that a stranger falls into very bad company in them. 

The fares are generally high, and the charge in a third-class or 
Parliamentary train is quite as much as that demanded for a first- 
class passage over most of the roads in the Northern States. 



OR, WANDERINGS Or AN AMERICAN. 381 

The sums paid for seats in first and second-rate carriages are 
from one- third more to twice as much as is asked for the best rail- 
way conveyance with us. None of these cars have fire in them at 
any time, and in winter John Bull freezes as he travels. 

The usual rate of travel per hour is not greater than the ave- 
rage on our best roads, and it rarely occurs that a train exceeds 
thirty miles in the time mentioned. T speak now of the ordinary 
passenger trains — those that are composed of two classes of car- 
riages — first and second. The express trains may reach forty 
miles to the hour, but seldom go beyond. The speed on Eoglish 
railroads is greatly exaggerated in the United States, and the 
stories we hear of sixty miles an hour are fabrications. That 
rate is rarely, if ever, attained; and if it ever is run, it is only on 
special occasions when something of great importance requires 
such rapid travel. At least, such is my belief. 

The system of ticketing or booking passengers is excellent, and 
might be adopted in the United States with advantage. Every 
passenger must obtain his ticket before taking his seat, under a 
penalty of fine or imprisonment, and a printed card is given him 
on which is a number, the date of issue, and the train in which he 
is to travel. The plan is carried out all over the country, and if 
a stranger, unacquainted with the regulations, takes his seat with- 
out first obtaining a ticket, he is shown the rules and where to pay 
his fare. It seldom happens that fines are imposed, unless in 
cases where fraud is attempted on the company and clearly proved. 
Sometimes persons are called upon to show their tickets before 
the journey is ended, but not often. The roads are all inclosed, 
and no one can get out of the inclosure without being seen. 
There are attendants at every station ', in fact, the road-side stations 
are neat, comfortable houses, occupied by the station-master and 
his subordinates. Some of these buildings are grand, and fitted 
up beautifully. The passengers' waiting-rooms are separated ac- 
cording to the class, and the same distinctions are observable in 
them as are noticed in the cars. The stations in the large cities 
are immense in size, all covered in, and all convenient. 

There is but little doubt that the heavy cost of the English 
railways is mainly owing to the immoderate expenditure upon 



382 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

stations — in embellishments and fine fronts. No road is brought 
into a town or village, as with us, down a main or by- street. 
They are all either walled in or raised on arches, which are built 
at immense expense, and no person can get on to the track in 
either town or country without being immediately put oiF. 

The turnpikes and roads do not cross the railways as with us. 
They either pass over the track on strong bridges, or the rail is 
bridged across them. In only two instances did I notice the turn- 
pike and the railroad on a level with a carriage-way across the rail 
as in the United States, and those were at Harrowgate, Yorkshire, 
and a village called Colwich, in Staffordshire. In both cases 
there were strong gates on either side of the rail, and no vehicle 
could pass through, unless by the consent of a guard, one of which 
was constantly in attendance. 

The name of the town or village is painted in large letters on 
the station, and the master of the depot opens the carriage-doors 
when the train stops, and tells the passengers where they are. 
The people are often locked in to prevent accident, for some are 
impatient to get out as soon as they arrive at their destination, 
and if the doors were not secured, many would suffer injury from 
alighting too soon. Both doors are not usually locked, however; 
only the one next to the landing. 

The rails are admirably laid, and easy to travel. There is no 
jolting, no uneasy motion, no suffocating dust. The fact that grass 
is cultivated on the sides of deep cuts and slopes is one reason 
why clouds of the choking substance do not arise from the agita- 
tions of the air by the flying trains ; and coke is used as fuel, 
which is another reason for the small amount of dust about the 
carriages when in motion. 

The cars are constructed on the same principle as those in use 
in the early history of railroads, and the conductors do not pass 
from car to car to collect tickets as with us. "When the trains are 
near their destination, if it be a large town, they are stopped a 
mile or more from the station for the collection of the tickets, and 
it really seems as if it never yet entered the head of an English- 
man to contrive or adopt a means by which this stoppage could 
be avoided. The simple method formerly in use in the United 



OR; WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 383 

States, when carriages, such as those on the English roads, were 
common here, of passing from car to car on a footboard outside, 
while the trains are in motion, and collecting the tickets, does not 
appear to have occurred to John Bull; or, if it has, it has never 
been acted upon; nor has he thought proper to change the shape 
of the carriages so as to allow of a passage through from one to 
the other as with us. 

Some one of my countrymen who has visited England says 
that there is no noise made by the railway-engines when starting 
or stopping, but my observations lead to a contrary conclusion. 
I never was in a train that w^as not started at the ringing of a 
bell or shrill cry of a steam-whistle, and it often occurs that the 
eno;ineers make one's ears tinde with the noises of those instru- 
ments. 

The locomotives are mostly small, and differ materially in their 
construction from those made on our side of the Atlantic, being 
more concentrated. The driving-shaft is under the boiler, and 
not at the side as with us. The most of them are manufactured 
at Manchester, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, or in Scotland, and all of 
them are finished in admirable style. The chimney or smoke 
funnel is not so high as those on the American engines, and the 
wheels appear to be much larger in proportion to the size. 

Great precaution is taken to prevent accidents. Men usually 
go round the train at the principal stopping-places on a long 
route, and try the wheels by sounding them with a hammer, and 
at the same time oil the journals on each axle. This care is con- 
sidered necessary on account of the constant use made of the 
cars, and it is a prudent one. The trains are all run on the left 
track from the place of starting, that being the rule throughout 
the country. The left is the right of the road, and everywhere 
observed. 

The tunnels in some sections of the country are very long, 
particularly in the mountainous districts of Yorkshire, and all of 
them are walled with brick or hewn stone throughout. I have 
passed through two in that county of great length, one being 
three, the other two miles long. From this fact the reader can 
form an idea of the heavy cost of English railways. I believe 



384 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

tliej average ^llO^OOO per mile! And then large viaducts are 
erected over valleys and rivers wbicli would be considered wonder- 
ful in our land. Nothing is done meanly, but everything grand ! 
Perfection is aimed at in every case, and beauty is always as 
much sought after as utility. The ground on the sides of the 
tracks is often cultivated with care, and at nearly every village 
station one sees in season a bed of gay and delicious flowers. If 
the carriages for passengers were as elegant as the roads, there 
would be no fault of consequence to remedy; but such is not the 
case, nor soon likely to be. 

There are four great trunk lines in England, the names of 
which are as follows : London and North-western, Great Northern, 
Great Western, and Midland Counties, although the latter may 
not be considered so by some persons. The first two are import- 
ant lines, and traverse the island from the metropolis north to 
Scotland, the former on the western side, the latter on the eastern. 
The South-western and the Eastern Counties roads are next in 
importance, and with their branches do a large traffic. One 
begins at London and terminates at Yarmouth in Norfolk ; the 
other diverges from the metropolis and reaches to Southampton, 
and branches thence to various towns and cities in the South- 
western counties. There are innumerable minor roads not in- 
cluded in the branches of the above, the most important of which 
is the Chester and Holyhead line, over which the principal travel 
between England and Ireland passes, and on which route is the 
Britannia Tubular Bridge. There are but two roads in Wales, 
one at the extreme north, just named; the other at the south. 
The interior of the principality is so mountainous, and the people 
so little given to travel, that railroads, thus far, have met with 
but little favor with them. 

There is a wonderful amount of business on the principal lines, 
both in passengers and freight, and on some of the great roads 
diverging from London, as many as fifteen trains for the convey- 
ance of passengers only, leave daily. The luggage vans (the 
name given to all freight cars) are constantly on the move, and 
day and night they can be heard rolling on over the iron rails. 
In fact, an English railway is an index to the trade of the country. 



385 

and one of the large stations in a city of importance is a minia- 
ture of the island. Passengers, bales, boxes, and produce, each 
have their allotted department, and each are moved and removed 
by system and by rule. If the carriages for the conveyance of 
second or third-class passengers were as convenient and comfortable 
as the rules for the government of the roads are good and admira- 
ble, then there would be more to admire in the system than there 
is now, and but little of which to complain. 

We have the advantage of the English in our luggage system^ 
and they might adopt our plan of checking baggage with profit. 
They never " check" your trunks, but generally pile them on top 
of the cars, and cover them with canvas to keep the rain out, and 
if you don't have an eye on them yourself, they are likely to be 
carried off by some watchful thief. 

It is worth while to observe that the phrases " up train,^' and 
^' down train," are used throughout the Island of Great Britain, 
and have reference to London. From some cause, never explained 
to me. Englishmen always speak of London as " up," no matter 
in what direction it lies from where they reside; and consequently 
those designated as " up trains" are understood to be going to the 
metropolis, while it is as clearly understood that the ^' down 
trains" are those which go from London. 



886 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

BRIGHTON, ITS APPEARANCE — THE PAVILION — ESPLANADE — A 
NIGHT WITH A "BLUE COAT BOY/^ 

I PURPOSELY pass over a month of inactive life, and if my reader 
•will follow me away from London, I will conduct him in imagi- 
nation to Brighton. Here we are in the train, a bevy of chatting 
girls is at our side, the railway officials are sounding the alarm 
of departure, and now we go, over the house-tops of Bermondsey, 
the smoke from the chimneys below puffing in our faces, and the 
shrill cry of the steam-whistle ringing in our ears, away from the 
thick atmosphere of the metropolis to the broad fields of Kent and 
Sussex, and thence to the side of the ever-sounding and heaving 
sea. 

Two hours' travel brings us to the city of fashion, and we are 
soon quietly released from the carriages and station ; we hunt up a 
hotel, perform our ablutions, and sally forth to observe. There 
is an air of grandeur about the place absolutely bewitching, and 
the clear sky above you, and clean streets around, completely 
captivate. The thoroughfares are not straight, nor are they level, 
nor yet narrow. Steep, crooked, wide — describe them ! But the 
houses ? ! they are noble. Bow after row they rise — in ter- 
races, crescents, places. Nearly all are beautiful, lofty, imposing, 
and aristocratic. The city is not like others in England ; it is 
new and grand. The parks are numerous; the drives really 
magnificent; but Til not anticipate. First let us go into the 
pavilion — George the Fourth's Folly. It is a gorgeous palace, 
and rich in Turkish ornament. Mosque-like outside, the interior, 
decorated with gold and brilliant colors, hung with dazzling lamps, 
and crystal chandeliers, conveys to the beholder's mind the idea 
that he is in some splendid eastern palace, to ornament which 
ingenuity has been taxed to its full, and the stock of oriental fan- 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 887 

cies and arts completely exhausted. Dragons of green, with fiery 
eyes and forked tongues, embellish the walls of one department ; 
Alhambrian scenery those of another ; and all the colors of the 
palette the third. It is the very abode of voluptuous ease, and 
one cannot divest his mind, when in it, of Cyprians and sensual- 
ism. The taint of immorality is blended with its elegance, and 
the various halls are looked upon only as places once reeking 
with royal dissipation. The present Queen of England never ad- 
mired the Pavilion, and by her advice it was wisely sold to the 
city of Brighton; and now serves the purposes of an exhibition- 
hall. 

I said before that the houses of the great bathing-place are 
beautiful, and, it may be added, they are like palaces. Nearly all 
are built with bow fronts ; the windows are spacious ; the rooms 
lofty; the style of building imposing. 

But the drive along the cliffs is the principal attraction for the 
stranger, and there, of a clear day, crowds come and go, as rich 
and gay as those which throng Hyde Park. The road follows 
along the sea, overlooking it a great distance, and extends full 
three miles in an unbroken line, to the north of which is a continu- 
ous row of splendid mansions. Travellers say that it is the finest 
drive in Europe, and when the fashionable hour throngs it with 
equestrians, it does not take a large fancy to make it so. The 
ocean rolls at the south, and as you dash along the edge of the 
clifi', in an easy-going carriage, your eye involuntarily wanders out 
upon the blue waves, watching them in their wild play as the 
breeze curls them up into capes of foam. France is beyond, but 
the eye cannot reach it, and you content yourself with the fact 
that she is there ; and to be nearer her shores, you go down on to 
the Chain Pier, a long artificial promenade, erected on a number 
of abutments, and extending out into the deep brine. As you 
pass along its stalls, on which are exposed for sale variegated sea- 
shells, splendidly polished stones of brilliant colors, and inge- 
niously constructed articles for the work-box or toilet arrest the 
eye, and you stop to purchase a memento of the place. The pier 
is of no great utility, and is to Brighton what the Thames Tunnel 
is to London, a monument of engineering skill, and an evidence 



388 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY; 

of what man can do, rather than a work from which the public 
derive any benefit. The inhabitants of the city (for so it may be 
calledj although in England that designation belongs only to the 
town claiming a bishop) are agreeable and hospitable; at least 
I found them so, and, after a day's examination of the most 
interesting places in the town, I passed an evening in the com- 
pany of a gentleman belonging to it who received his edu- 
cation at the famous London Blue Coat School. He was a cheer- 
ful companion, an intelligent man, and an admirer of America. 
The bright sea-coal fire in mine inn parlor added to the comfort of 
the room, and as the hours stole on we enjoyed the occasion, and 
grew glorious over poetry, speech, and drama. The Brightonian 
was proud of his Alma Mater, and delighted in being a graduate 
of that institution within whose waills Coleridge, Charles Lamb, 
and Leigh Hunt drank from the stream of learning. He warmed 
when it was mentioned, eulogized its advantages, and drank its 
prosperity in a stoup of Burgundy, while I did the same in a cup 
of Souchong, when we parted for the night. Morning found me 
in London ; he in bed, probably, for I never heard of him more^ 
and know no more either of him or of Bri2;hton. 



OR; WANDERINGS OF AN AMERICAN. 389 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 

My wanderings, as detailed in this volume, are now ended ; 
but while on the eve of bidding adieu to " Fatherland," I feel 
obliged to acknowledge my indebtedness to James McHenry, Esq., 
of Liverpool, for his friendship to me. His gentlemanly deport- 
ment, kindness of heart, and amiability of character endear him to 
all who know him, and he is an honor to his native land, as well 
as a representative in Europe of the American merchant, of whom 
his brethren on this side of the Atlantic may be proud. 

The deck of a liner leaving Liverpool for the United States 
presents a scene of bustle and confusion of a remarkable cha- 
racter. The throng of emigrants, huddled in a particular place ; 
the song of the sailors; the authoritative orders of the officers; 
and the running to and fro of the men in the performance of their 
duty, commingled with other sounds not readily described, make 
tip a scene calculated to confound the clearest head. As the ves- 
sel slowly moves from her dock, surrounded by a fleet of similar 
craft that wedge her so closely on all sides as to cause you to 
wonder how she is to be extricated, the confusion increases; and 
by the time she clears the gates and gains the river, it has reached 
its height. The close of the day is usually chosen for departure, 
and as the ship moves down stream the voyager literally bids the 
town good-night. We drew out at such time, but in consequence 
of a death on board, that of the child of one of the emigrants, the 
ship was obliged to anchor until morning, so as to send the body 
ashore. Day dawned in mist; and when I went on deck, soon 
after sunrise, the sailors were lowering the corpse into a boat, 
which lay along-side, to convey it away. The captain and some 
men entered the yawl, and in a few minutes were lost to sight in 



390 THE FOOTPATH AND HIGHWAY ; 

the fog as tbej pulled shoreward. Death, on the very threshold 
of the voyage, was not regarded as a favorable omen. 

The piping of the winds through the cordage, and the dash of 
waters, chafed and angry, united with the roll of the vessel, soon 
convince a man that he is on the deep. We passed Great Ormes 
Head, and the shores of Anglesea, and then bade adieu to Old 
England. Farewell, I murmured, as the hazy outline of the 
Welsh highlands slowly blended with the waves and sky — fare- 
well, land of chivalry and song ! I love thee, proud Albion, and 
in my heart dwells a hope to behold thee once again. I came to 
thee a wanderer, and found among thy sons and daughters friends, 
whose hearts were warm, and whose souls were true. In the 
shadow of thy ruins, in the solitude of thy moors, in the aisles of 
thy cathedrals, I drank in the spirit of poesy ; and my heart beat 
high with indescribable emotions. I felt as a pilgrim at a sacred 
shrine, when I stood beside the graves of thy wonderful and thy 
great ; and the recollection of the scenes enacted within thy bor- 
ders — scenes stamped upon the pages of history, and pictured in 
the poet's song — made my heart thrill when I could realize the 
truth that I was treading on thy soil. 

Thy faults and virtues are many ; inequality and oppression 
dwell with thee ; but, though thy artisan is cast down, and thy 
peasant debased, still thy soil is freedorrCs soil; and from thy 
shores goes forth the only voice of liberty heard in Europe. Pro- 
gress is busy with thy people ; the one-man power is declining; 
and the toiling many are braving the titled few. That spirit 
which actuated the men who left thee exiles, to defy the tempest 
and battle with the dangers of an inhospitable clime and forest 
lands, rather than suffer the tyrant's chains, is burning within thy 
sons ; and although centuries are on thy brow, thy manhood is 
not yet. A hale and vigorous ^outJi is thine. Decay has left no 
marks upon thee ; and although thine enemies wish thy overthrow, 
and point with complacency to what they are pleased to call thy 
decline, the close observer, who visits thy shores from other lands, 
sees nothing in thee indicative of a speedy fall. If the casting 
aside of follies and semi-barbarism — the spurning of the divinity 
of kingS; and the adoration of nobles — and the expulsion of the 



OR, WANDERINGS OP AN AMERICAN. 391 

rule of ignorance — be evidences of decay, then thou art decaying. 
But no ; these speak loudly for thy future. Brute force is giving 
way to reason ; intellect is superseding rank and patents of no- 
bility; mind is becoming supreme, and justice asserting her 
right. Revolution, silent and peaceful — the revolution of reason, 
not passion — is progressing on thy soil, and among thy people ; 
and though the advancement is slow, it is sure ; and even now 
its fruits are visible. 

A few years hence, and thy masses will assert their rights, and 
sweep away that aristocracy which has ever been thy curse. Then 
thy manhood will dawn, and England and freedom will be synony- 
mous terms over all the earth. 

The waves are around me now ; and farewell to England ! The 
ship feels the breeze, and bows cheerfully to its pressure. The 
white sails are full; the sailors are singing aloft, and the emi- 
grants fretting below. 



THE END. 









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